


Mute

by TroubledPro



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dancer!Louis, M/M, Mute!Harry, Progressive Mutism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 06:10:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 122,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TroubledPro/pseuds/TroubledPro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>How is love supposed to speak, when one can’t even choke out the words?</i><br/>Louis’ life was a joke through his witty words.<br/>Harry’s life was a joke through his lack of words.<br/>Louis was classed as a normal child; mentally and physically.<br/>Harry was classed as an abnormal child; mentally and physically.<br/>Louis could speak.<br/>Harry could not.<br/>Harry had progressive mutism.<br/>Louis did not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> This story was originally posted on Tumblr (troubledpro.tumblr.com) but I'm transferring it over here. You might have read it already, but if you haven't, I really hope that you enjoy it! This story was written over the space of 8 months so the standard may vary a little (I don't think it's at AO3 standard at all so I'm very nervous about posting it here!). It's been tweaked and beta'd (by @UhhNoel - thank you!) so this version is a little neater than the one on tumblr. It is complete, I finished it in November, so that means that there will be no extended waits for updates. I will update every other day, it has a total of 19 chapters and nearly 123k words. This is only the prologue so it's quite short, but the chapters end up being a _lot_ longer.  
>  Anyway, I really hope that you like it! Thank you for reading! xx

The past 16 years have been hard for Anne Cox. Not only had she gone through a divorce with her ex-husband, struggled with an unruly teenage daughter for a few years, and been the sole income earner, but she'd also had to cope with her mute son.

Although it seems as if he was a burden to her, he wasn't at all. If Anne had three wishes, she'd never wish to change her son in the slightest. Not for her benefit anyway. For his? Maybe she would.

She would never moan about it, or make herself out to be a victim of the lord's wrath; she just smiled and appreciated what she had.

 It didn't matter that Harry couldn't speak; it didn't matter that he couldn't communicate with her; it didn't matter that she could never have that normal mother-son bond, because at least she had him.

She was massively proud of him, as she was of her daughter. Her two children meant the world to her, and she wouldn't have it any other way. Even when she met Robin and he became her husband, they always came first.

 

She realised something was wrong with Harry right from the beginning. Although she didn't know for sure, she could sense something, as any mother would be able to. His cries never reached higher than a whimper, his gargles sounded rough and _wrong._ Any sound peeping from the baby boy sounded painful and choked.

At first she passed it off as him being a quiet baby, thinking he was the opposite of his loud sister. But the niggle in the back of her mind scratched its way to the surface when the, then one year old, bumped his head and didn't let out a sound. His tears fell silently as he lay on the floor helpless, not alerting his mother who was rushing around try to help his sister get ready for school. When she found him, she immediately took him to the doctors, claiming it was for the bump to his head and secretly hiding that she wanted to find out the cause for his quietness.

When they told her what it was, after weeks of gruelling tests, she felt her heart break in two. She felt guilty that she hadn't done anything sooner; guilty that her child was mute and there was nothing she could do about it. It wasn't her fault; it was a hereditary disorder which was unknown to any of her family. But that didn't make it much better.

"He might grow out of it," the doctor claimed. "Harry can go through lots of training; we have schemes which have proved to be successful to remove the problem."

But they never worked. They just made it worse. When Harry started to make progress with his family relationships, he'd be sent for a day-long scheme to try and lure him out of his shell. When he returned though, he was deathly silent. He broke the eye contact he'd built since the last session; he stopped the sinking hugs; he suppressed the heart warming smiles; and he locked himself away. He locked himself in his room, and locked his emotions deep down. Things got better over time. To an outsider, they looked like a normal family. Harry smiled and laughed along with them sometimes, and Anne treasured those moments with her whole heart. She really wouldn't change him for anything.

 

Harry was perfect, and Anne just hoped that someone else would see past his frozen voice and love him more than anything else in the world.


	2. Saturday 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say that the standard will get better? This chapter isn't written all that well, but I hadn't found my writing style until a few chapters in. It will get better, I promise, so please stick with it. They also get longer, too, the chapters, so overall the story does improve over time. I hope you like it, thank you for reading! xx

**Saturday 1**

Louis slipped his light jacket off of his shoulders as he strode through the heavy doors. It hung loosely over his shoulder, batting off his back as he made his way through the modern building. He needn't wear a jacket at all: the golden sun in the sky and his undeniably stylish fashion etiquette led him to only wearing a light scarf around his slim neck. His bright blue eyes danced over his surroundings, peering at the unusually busy reception area with suspicion. A crowd had gathered around the café area, a small one if honest, but more than there usually would be. That café was not renowned for the sweetest of treats; of that was true.

Shrugging nonchalantly as he caught the eye of Brenda –the building advisor–, he stalked off down the first left hand corridor in search of his destination. He batted away the blush that spread over Brenda's cheeks in his mind, pushing out the panic of the obvious crush she had on him, regardless of her forty years of age and his blatant attraction to the same sex.

Louis Tomlinson, you see, was gay: very much so. He didn't hide the fact that he was attracted to men, and he pranced around with no more than a smidgen of heterosexuality. His voice was sweet and his movements flowed with such grace that it was impossible not to throw him under the typical 'gay' stereotype. Add that to the fact he was a student at Manchester University for Music and Arts, studying in Musical Performance consisting of singing, dancing and acting; he was just a very typical gay.

Due to his camp streak only growing over time, he'd never received any outright hate over his sexuality. Most people were used to his vibrant and confident ways, as he'd always been the centre of attention. But as time went on, he'd had the odd comment which bruised his ego a little. He didn't take hate very well; if he was brutally honest with himself, he never had the experience beforehand to know how to cope with it. With his acceptance came lack of knowledge on how to deal with it. So when it did come, he usually put on a brave face to cover the cracks in his heart. That all normally came to a halt when he'd over thought the matter too much, and he eventually broke down on the dance floor with over excessive routines which strained his muscles and caught his breath until he couldn't move anymore.

That being said, Louis was a generally cheery and joyful lad. His beaming smile was rarely wiped off his face, those perfectly straightened, glistening pearly whites all on show for the majority of the day. His loud laugh boomed loudly throughout the studios more times than able to be counted, and his eyes never lost that glint of joy. Overall, Louis Tomlinson was just _happy._

 

His feet danced through the doorway as his nimble hands pushed open an entrance. His body spun around with his arms poised around him, and the hallway whirled into the music room: his music room. His mind was concentrating on his Tom clad toes and the music tinkling in his head, the soft keys of the piano chiming through his mind in the newest tune he'd learnt for his exam piece. Swiftly, the notes in his mind conformed to a heavier beat, the low and dulcet notes breaking his floating movements. His spinning motion halted quickly and his cerulean eyes shone out in shock.

They latched onto an unknown figure curled over the piano keys. Louis was immediately alert; the imposter was playing on _his_ piano, in _his_ music room. Okay, so it wasn't actually his room or his piano, but he was the only one who used it as it was just routine that it was where he played. But here was an intruder prodding the keys to make a, strangely beautiful, dark tune.

The 21 year old coughed for attention, gaining nothing but a continual of the music in response. As the heavy song plonked along, Louis crept closer to the hunched being.

"Excuse me?" his high tone laced through the air. The music stopped and a pair of green eyes swiped their way to Louis' interruption. The eyes crashed to the floor to break all contact, and awkwardly shifted their way around the carpet. The boy's hands were still hovering on the precious keys of the piano, as if attached by glue. Louis studied the, he guessed, young lad, taking in the messy mop of curls that wound masterfully around each other, the smooth and pale skin stretching over a perfectly featured face, running past those downcast greens, and pink rosy lips. His face spoke a thousand words of beauty; any phrase of the sort could be evoked from the wary face.

"Are you supposed to be in here?” Louis asked the boy, trying to hide the patronising tone that tended to seethe through his voice at times; blame his mother for that trait.

_Silence._

"Okay then..." Louis thought. "Can I help you?" he asked more cheerily.

_Silence._

"Okay....well, do you know where my sheet music is? I just popped in to get it now."

_Silence._

"It's a Beethoven piece, fairly long; it should've been on the stand..."

_Silence._

Louis was starting to get annoyed at the blatant ignorance of the boy. His eyes were still rooted to the floor, and his expression was blank. Louis wasn't one to get easily annoyed, but with the audacity the boy had to play on his piano and then not even answer him, the boy was grating on him.

"Look, all I want is my music so if you could please just give it to me then I'll be on my way," he snapped. The boy silently swivelled in his seat and picked up a pile of sheets, quivering as he handed them back to Louis who grabbed them hastily.

"God, it's not that hard to speak," he muttered as he stalked out the room, unaware of the boy who was gulping heavily with fear, a shake in hold over his hands slightly, and blushing fiercely with embarrassment.

 

**Saturday 2**

As Louis bustled into the studio, hopping on one foot to pull on his ballet shoe, he pushed his feathered fringe from his face and breathed out a sigh of relief. He reached the studio with two minutes to spare, thanks to his wandering mind keeping him from leaving the coffee shop early enough. He couldn't be late for another lesson or else Mr. Harbour would give him a right bollocking. It would've been the fifth consecutive time, so he was glad his athletic build streamed him to the building quickly.

The reason he had to rush through the city was because of that curly haired lad who sat in his piano seat one week ago. When he was ordering his morning coffee from the local Starbucks, a flash of curly hair rushed past the window, causing Louis' thoughts to return once more to the silent boy.

Many times during the week had his thoughts filed back to the boy and he had no idea why. He couldn't help the drifting thoughts, even when he was supposed to be annoyed with him. He was captured by those green orbs and melted into a pool of curiosity at the thought of those soft lips. He felt slightly perverted thinking of his lips on the other boy's, especially when he didn't even know his name, but those lips were just too enticing. Louis didn't know why the boy was there; he definitely wasn't a student there or else Louis would have known him, and also he wouldn't have acted so oblivious to the performer and would've embraced his presence fully.

Louis wasn't boastful of his popularity, but everyone _did_ know who he was and everyone _did_ like him, regardless of their jealousy over his many perfected talents. He was just so likeable that nobody could bear to break that perfect smile, and they had no choice but to return it, as it was so infectious. In his three years of studying, he'd no doubt been the star student. His abilities only got better over his stay, causing him to grasp the lead role in most of the plays the University put on. He looked so comfortable on stage, so graceful as he danced over the raised floor, so pitch-perfect as he belted out the song, and so emotionally involved as he read the memorized script with no mistakes whatsoever.

 

Back to the present, Louis ignored the judgemental glare from his teacher and shuffled into position by the bar to stretch out his muscles. As he bent and stretched his legs until he could feel the pull, Mr. Harbour pottered around the studio in search of something unbeknownst to Louis so he would be ready to start the lesson. Louis had private lessons from the rest of the students as Harbour's teaching to the others was too easy for Louis. He needed a more advanced study and Harbour agreed to provide him with that.

"Louis, do you fancy running into your piano room and grabbing that CD? I think you took it away with you..." Mr. Harbour mused.

With a swift nod, Louis trundled out of the room to his piano room, through the thin crowds to the familiar room. His eye caught a small sign situated by one of the doors reading "Rays of Sunshine charity event". It clicked in Louis' mind that that must've been the reason for the busyness last week and the continuation this week. He'd heard through the mill about it but thought nothing of it, but seeing the beaming faces of the students involved and the workers, he realised how good a cause it was and a small smile tugged at his lips.

As he entered the room, his eyes cast over the memorable hunched body and mass of curls. He was eager for the boy to warm up to him, for some strange reason. The same tune was being played again, the same dreary tune. Louis slid over to the piano. The boy must've noticed Louis' arrival as his fingers clanged against the keys to make an atrocious mess of notes. The boy's cheeks flushed hot pink and his lip drew between his teeth. His eyes shut tight as if willing himself to keep his emotions at bay. His head dipped and his fingers clenched together into a fist.

Louis didn't know what to do. All over that one mistake, the boy seemed to be breaking down in front of his eyes, but Louis knew nothing about him as to know how to help him. Awkwardly, an emotion Louis didn't often feel, he lifted his hand and placed it on the boy's shoulder; but as soon as the light touch graced the jumper clad shoulder, the boy jumped back in shock and fell to the ground. He scuffled backwards to the corner of the room and hugged himself with fear. His green eyes were wide from the contact, scoping out the room with a fidgeting glare.

Once again, Louis stood there bewildered. His mouth opened and closed repeatedly to try and console the boy but nothing flowed from his mouth, because he didn't even know what to say.

"Are you alright?" he said cautiously.

_Silence._ The boy's expression subdued to the blankness it exploited the week before, his lips clamped shut.

"Okay...well I'm just going to get my CD and like leave," he said uncomfortably. His shining eyes walked around the room in search of the missing disc, taking a while to find it. The suffocating tension in the room collapsed over Louis' body as he rushed to find the CD. Finally finding it, he grasped it and ran out the room away from the breaking boy.

As he stepped out the room and leant against the cool white wall, he sucked in a well needed breath to replace the gripping hold the atmosphere of the room had on him, and he let it out shakily.

What the hell even was that?


	3. Saturday 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I totally forgot to update yesterday! Once again, the standard will increase so please don't be put off by it at the moment! I hope you like it, thank you for reading! xx

**Saturday 3**

When Louis found out, he felt awful. He felt guilt drip from his heart and pool in the bottom of his stomach. His brain felt as if it was melting into regret, and the corners of his eyes burned with fatal embarrassment. A thick lump gathered in his throat, not of sadness, but of sympathy. The kind of lump you'd get when you watch a poverty based film, full of pity and urges to help those less fortunate.

He didn't even mean to hear. If he was honest, after hearing it he wished he never had. The saying 'curiosity killed the cat' never felt more relevant. Because in that moment, he knew something in his heart had changed; whether he sought after it or not, something had. Maybe just a speck of that singular emotion wasn't enough to affect his state of mind at the present time, but it was enough to trigger _something._

Sympathy.

That's what it was. Slosh in a bit of regret and pity and you've hit the nail on the head. It was more the past words that flew out of his mouth without consideration that bugged him the most as he departed the building which was like his second home. He'd never needed to restrain and ponder upon his words beforehand, nor had he felt he wanted to retrieve past sentences, so why did the fact he muttered words of offence to that curly haired boy get to him so much?

He'd been standing in the café queue to buy himself a water bottle before he returned back to his dance class when he heard it. He didn't _mean_ to eavesdrop, but if someone is right in front of you talking seriously, you can't help but listen into the conversation a little. If you want to call Louis nosy, then go ahead, but nobody can claim they aren't interested in petty information from total strangers when they're waiting patiently in a long queue.

The woman looked very young for her presumable middle-aged status. She was evidently the lead charity worker, by the badge clipped onto her flouncy clothing. Her 'chatting partner' was of a younger age, but not as youthful to be a student or anything of the similar. He didn't know how they got onto the conversation he overheard, but he listened in nonetheless.

_"My boy, Harry, he likes to play the piano too. Gorgeous lad; big curly hair and bright green eyes? I've dragged him along here the past few weeks to play in one of the rooms, the one with the big black grand piano?" she said._

That was when Louis' ears pricked up. His mind made fast connections and paired the boy in discussion to be the one from last Saturday who reacted shockingly to Louis' presence. It was most definitely him as the only room in the building that had such a grand piano was Louis' room. Louis resisted a scoff at the fact she was talking so brightly about her son when he was so rude to Louis it was indescribable.

_"He seems overjoyed by the piano there; well, as overjoyed as he can express," she continued. "I wish he'd show some more enthusiasm in things, but I still know that he loved playing on that certain one. Motherly instinct I guess. But still, it was hard to tell at first until he returned to his rickety piano at home."_

Louis almost tuned out of the conversation, not wanting to hear a mother rabbit on about her money troubles, but the line to the counter seemed to be only getting slower so he returned his attention to the conversation before him in a bid to entertain his bored mind.

_"Is he just withdrawn? My brother used to be like that when he was a teenager. But it wasn't serious, just growing up really," the other woman spoke._

_"No, Jill, sometimes I wish it was just growing up though," the woman mused. "He's got a condition that has the side effect of difficulty to express himself, even to family members. So it isn't really his fault he always has such a blank expression."_

_"Oh Anne, that's terrible. If you don't mind me asking, what's wrong with him?"_

Louis was too intrigued to turn away from the conversation. He wanted answers for the reasoning Anne just supplied about Harry's ignorance.

After, he wished he wasn't so intrigued.

_"He's got a form of mutism. It's called progressive mutism. Basically, he just can't speak. Not to anyone. He's lived with it all of his life, he knows nothing different. We went through therapy to try and help him speak but he gave up when he was younger. It's gone so far that now it's impossible. I don't think he sees the point in it trying to change anymore. But he's still my baby boy, y'know, so I'll always be proud of him, even if he has just given up; he's perfect the way he is."_

Louis' attention drifted from the gasp of shock from Jill and the following words from Anne and situated itself on his past words and small experiences with the boy. He could feel his body sagging with guilt. The poor lad didn't have a choice on whether he could talk or not, and Louis had out rightly snubbed his lack of speech to his face in nothing less than an aggressive manner.

 

As Louis silently exited the long queue, his want for a drink seemingly lost and his eagerness to return to his class dissipating rapidly into his sombre aura, he slumped out of the building with thoughts of negative emotions rushing around in his head as if his emotional standing was the prey of this unknown boy's story, biting and chomping at his integrity.

When he collapsed onto his sofa, his thoughts turned to imagining the situation on a personal level. What if he were Harry, how would he feel if some prancing boy saddled up to him and insulted his general being? How would he have coped with never being able to peep a word throughout his whole life? Would he have been able to be so solitary for years on end, not even bothering with his family?

And then Louis thought: why do I even care?

 _"He's interesting,"_ his conscience muttered.

"He's no more interesting than Harley from the recording booth or Helena in scriptwriting," Louis argued back.

_"He's fit."_

"But he looks like sixteen or something, he's too young for me in any case."

_"He's different."_

"Is that a good thing?"

_"You like danger, you like taking risks."_

"That isn't relevant."

_"Yes it is, he's a risk."_

"What if I don't want to take a risk? He's probably forgotten about me anyway, why does it matter?"

_"You know you want to, and you know he hasn't forgotten. You're imagining him curled up in the corner of a room, that blank expression gnawing through the wall he's staring through with silent tears flooding the room. All because of you. That's why it matters."_

With no reply, his conscience battled through to Louis' truth.

_"He can't speak."_

Louis cleared his throat, ridding of the thick lining breaking his strong wall hiding the truth.

"I know," Louis croaked.

_"He looked so fragile and vulnerable."_

"I know," Louis repeated.

_"You want to help him."_

Silence engulfed Louis and the murmur in his head until Louis' mouth choked out the words which felt so bittersweet on his tongue.

"I know."

 

So that's how Louis found himself trudging back into that familiar building, his –still ballet shoe clad– feet leading him to that certain room where he knew the boy would be. Obviously he'd ran through his mind's state thousands of times, wondering on whether he should enter the world of the curious boy, but each time it returned to one of Louis' traits: helping. He always wanted to help. Whether it be a simple unloading of the groceries, or trying to transform an, evidently delicate, boy's life for the better, he'd do it. Louis knew he could help him. Albeit they were polar opposites, Louis being the most chatty person you could ever come across and Harry, well, not being able to talk at all. But Louis thought it could work. What was the harm in trying?

His light steps crossed the entrance and floated through the corridor, stopping short at the illusive door. With a deep breath to drink in courage, something strange for Louis to do, his hand creased down on the handle and pushed the door open.

Harry didn't move when the door clicked open and whooshed air into the room, nor did he react when a presence stood behind him. He was totally and utterly lost in the sound the keys made as his fingers pressed down on them expertly. His green orbs were hidden by his pale eyelids, his eyes shut to embrace the tune without distraction.

Slowly pulling up the spare stool, Louis perched by the top end of the keys and braced his fingers over the pearls. Cautiously, sneaking prolonged glances at the boy to gage his reaction, Louis' fingertips pressured down and sounded the first tinkling note.

Harry didn't jump in shock and scuffle to the corner of the room as Louis suspected; he instead just shot his eyes open and stared inquisitively at the intruder. His fingers kept gracing the keys and continuing the flowing song, whilst his concentration settled on Louis. His eyes danced around Louis' form, taking in his structure and stance and deciphering his ulterior motives. Finding none, his eyes struck down to the nimble digits of the other boy and watched as they created a complimentary accompaniment to Harry's own music.

As the song came to a close, neither moved nor made a noise. Louis let Harry adjust to his large presence, whilst securing his thoughts that it was the respective thing to do.

"The Script, huh?" he spoke out, referring to the song they played together. Harry didn't reply; he didn't do anything except stare at the keys as if in a trance.

"Harry, isn't it?" The flickering of Harry's eyes up quickly to Louis' face but straight back down to the keys was enough reassurance to Louis that he was indeed correct, and that Harry wasn't objecting his attendance.

"I'm Louis, Louis Tomlinson. I'm a student here. Not that that really matters. I'm guessing you're the charity event manager's son? It's a lovely thing for your Mum to do that; the kids will really appreciate it."

Louis found it hard to regulate to the lack of contact from the boy, not even a movement towards him to show that he was listening. But it didn't put him off, not in the slightest. He knew that Harry was listening, even with the stone blank expression that didn't twitch at all; he knew the boy was filtering his bright words, whether he was enjoying them or not was beyond him, but it was enough to know his attempts to help we registering.

"Do you know any other songs by The Script? Do you fancy playing them...with me?"

The only reply, a short while after Louis' offer, was the clinking of the keys rounding into the familiar tune of one of The Script's songs.

 

As they played through most of the album's songs, Louis couldn't help but watch in awe as Harry's fingers melted upon the keys to create nothing less than a fascinating masterpiece every time. It was truly mesmerising. Even if Harry couldn't speak through his words, he could speak through his music. Each press of the finger prompted a different emotion, the light tinkles showing delicacy but the hard thumps providing strength and roughness.

Once hours had passed and the songs had come to a finish, Louis' confident mind spoke without thought. "They're touring up here on Friday, do you fancy going?"

And that's when Louis knew he went too far.

Harry froze up, his body tensing dramatically. His top teeth caught over his bottom lip and he breathed in and out through his nose consecutively to rid himself of nervous emotions.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"Oh Harry, wouldn't that be fabulous!" a high voice interrupted them. Both their heads shot around to Anne who was standing in the doorway, her smile wide and her eyes slightly teary. Harry's eyes shifted around her face, not touching her eyes, to show his awkwardness and resentment for her intrusion and willing acceptance of the situation at hand.

"Hello dear, I'm Anne, Harry's Mum," she said to Louis.

"Louis Tomlinson, I'm just a student here," he replied warmly but with slight discomfort.

"So Harry, what do you think? You've never been to a concert before, it'll be so fun!" Anne said enthusiastically.

Harry shook his head hesitantly, a slow movement that looked like it sprouted from caution and nerves.

"It's just that I had a spare ticket because my mate pulled out last minute and well...it's alright if you don't want to go, it was just a suggestion. I mean you don't even know me so..."

"That doesn't matter! You can get to know each other!" Anne said happily, crouching down so to reach Harry's level and smoothing her fingers through the thick mass of curls. "Come on Harry, this'll do you good. I know how much you like them. Don't overthink it, alright? Louis seems like a nice lad, he'll take care of you; won't you Louis?"

"Yeh, sure," Louis replied definitively.

"Look, baby, you don't even have to stay for the whole thing, you can come home whenever you like. Louis can have my number and he'll make sure you're safe all the time; he won't leave you, won't you not Louis?"

"No, I won't leave your side unless you want me to. I'll cling by you so much you'll probably get sick of me straight away," Louis chuckled. He didn't know why he was trying so hard to get Harry to go to the concert with him; he guessed it just felt like the right thing to do.

"What d'you think?" Anne asked softly.

Tentatively, Harry nodded slowly, leading to both Anne and Louis breaking out into a large grin.

Louis most definitely could not wait for Friday to arrive.


	4. Friday 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The standard is slowly creeping up and things are finally actually happening. I hope you like it, thank you for reading! xx

**Friday 3**

Louis was fidgety. He was extremely fidgety. His palms were clamming up with a nervous sweat and his perfected fringe was feathering out from the constant worried run of his fingers lacing through it.  He continually rubbed his hands on his tight red trousers to rid himself of the reminder that he was really fucking _nervous._ As his Tom-clad feet pressed down on the accelerator of his rickety old car, his light blue shirt clung to his chest like a suffocating film.  The buzzing of the sideling drivers ran through his ears along with the slow murmur of the radio that was stuck on the same channel it had been from the start, and the flashing passing lights blinded him for less than a second each time.

He didn't know why he was so tense.

Well actually, he did. He was picking Harry up and taking him to, presumably, the boy's first ever gig. And that was what baffled him; why was he panicking about picking up a boy to take somewhere? It wasn't as if it were a foreign experience; he'd had many first dates at gigs. But this was different.

Well obviously it was different; it wasn't a date in the first place. Louis was only there to make at least a slight friend of the boy, not anything further in that way whatsoever. The first would be a battle in itself, and Louis didn't know Harry enough to be able to think of him that way yet. Yes he was pretty, _very_ pretty, but that wasn't anything but first initial thoughts.

But this was Harry they were talking about. _Harry._ The boy who couldn't mutter a word. The boy he didn't know anything about. The boy who was obviously fragile. The boy who was a total anomaly in Louis' globe of acquaintances. But it _was_ the boy he was taking to a gig and he _was_ going to make it his aim to make sure he led the boy into a fun and welcoming experience that he'd want to occur again.

He felt like he needed to prove himself to the boy. Prove he wasn't harmful and was in fact, just an outgoing, yet harmless, young man. He knew it would be a tricky task, hard to judge too as of Harry's lack of expression, but he was going to try his best, for him and for Harry.

The rocky roar of his red Nissan Micra trundled up the street in search of the quaint little house of the Styles residence. His blue orbs scanned the rows of houses lining the small road, scoping out for the particular number "28". Louis' eyes flickered along the dimly lit houses, landing upon the brightened number presenting the designated house. He pulled his car up by the driveway, ceasing the heavily grumbling engine to a halt.

Slumping back in the squeaky seat, Louis let his eyes travel the outside of the house. It was neatly presented, the garden preened enough not to look messy but not obsessively tampered with. The warm lights shone through the closed curtains, an indicator that there were people in the house. The welcoming and warm atmosphere of the outside only crashed nerves into Louis more. If Louis were to be rejected by the family, what would that say about him? It would not be anything positive, that was for sure.

Setting those thoughts behind, Louis breathed in deeply and let it out slowly before pulling himself out of the car. He scuttled up the driveway, the thin soles of his feet padding softly against the tarmac. He perched upon the small step in front of the door and tentatively reached to press the doorbell. Hearing it 'ding', he stepped back awkwardly off the step, fidgeting once more with his hair to fix it in the window reflection.  

The opening of the door drew him from his restlessness. His eyes snapped towards the figure in the doorway, who smiled with nothing but kindness and gentleness. Anne's eyes lit up with the sight of the fashionably dressed up boy in front of her, more over the idea that he actually turned up. She had doubts that he'd even turn up. It was unlikely he would, after all. The act could've been out of common courtesy at the time and Louis may have regretted it grandly afterwards. However, he had arrived, and Anne was truly excited at the prospect of her son _maybe_ gaining someone to care for him other than family.

"Louis! I'm so glad you came! Please, come in!" she said brightly, stepping sideways and letting Louis walk into the house. A gust of homely feel brushed over Louis as he strolled inside, a feeling he was yet to partake in as of late.

"Harry's still getting ready; do you want a cuppa or anything? Some wine?"

"If that's not any bother?" Louis asked cautiously.

"Of course not!" Anne said, leading Louis through to the kitchen. It wasn't an overly modern, nor overly old fashioned kitchen; it was just _comfortable._

"Tea or wine?"

"Would it be cheeky to ask for a glass of red?" Louis winced jokily, biting on his bottom lip as if totally innocent.

"Not at all! It's nice to have someone to share a bottle with, nobody else round here is a fan of it!" Anne smiled brightly. Pulling out an opened bottle, Anne reached for two large shining glasses and placed them down on the counter. Glugging the dark red substance into the glass, she handed one over to Louis.

Taking a hesitant sip, Louis' nerve-drenched muscles sagged with relaxation as the strong flavour washed down his throat and settled in his stomach nicely. "Ahh that's good," he sighed happily.

"I know right? Robin, Harry's step-dad, got it for me when he was in France on a business trip. I'll let you know, I only use it on special occasions," she winked playfully.

Louis choked on the mouthful of red at her words, his hand slipping up to cover his mouth to hide not only his dribbling mouth but the harsh blush dusting over his cheeks.

"I was only joking!" Anne laughed. "You need to loosen up, Louis!"

"Sorry," he said sheepishly, a chuckle hidden behind his meekness.

"But, I do only give this wine to important people. It's my best, so why not only share to with the best, ayy?" She nudged Louis' shirted shoulder, her wine sloshing in her glass.

"You really shouldn't be giving it to me then, Anne, I don't deserve this type of treatment, really," Louis, kind of, confessed.

"Nonsense! You of all people deserve it the most!" She argued with a bemused smile.

"I really don't see how...We don't really know each other; I could be a mass murder for all you know."

"But you aren't though. And that's the point; we don't know each other but you're making an effort to, and that's what counts. You're making an effort to get to know Harry, and that's why you deserve my finest of wines. You're trying with him, unlike everybody else; you're actually giving him a chance."

Louis was momentarily floored. What was he supposed to say to that? He had had no idea how much it meant to Anne that he was taking her son out to a gig; he had had no idea that the hope in her eyes was channelled by his need to please.

Thankfully, the bustle by the kitchen door brought him from the situation in hand, the presence of the boy in question floating limply in the background. Two sets of eyes lay upon the lingering boy, scoping out his presence and attire. Harry's head was downcast and his eyes were, evidently, trained upon the floor; however, it was hard to tell by the mass of curls hanging down over his young features. His stance was timid, his shoulders slumped over, his hands delving into his pockets and his feet awkwardly pointing inwards.

Louis' eyes trailed from the bottom up, viewing his white converse on his feet, his tan chinos hanging low on his waist but supported - or maybe it was just as an accessory, Louis wondered - with a striped leather belt, his dark blue polo shirt which accentuated his extremely long torso and which had the collar upturned stylishly, and finally the light blue blazer thrown over the top. Louis had to gulp thickly at the sight. Not normally would Louis be a fan of the rather posh type inspired outfits, especially blazers of which some people looked too stuck up in, but seeing Harry in his attire changed his opinion vastly. Okay, so maybe it was just in Harry's case and other people in blazers might be annoying too, but Harry sure looked _dashing._ Of course he looked hot, there was no doubt about it in Louis' mind that he looked extra fit - especially that long torso -, but it also looked sweet and cute. Harry was obviously unsure on his outfit by his constant shifting between feet and straightening out of the creases on his trousers, but Louis couldn't have picked anything better.

"Oh Harry, you look gorgeous!" Anne bashed, placing her wine on the counter and shuffling over to Harry to embrace him in a, albeit non-returned, hug. As she pulled back, Louis noticed the heavy blinking that Harry motioned, the only sign of emotion on his face. It was a mixture of confused, wary, and questioning blinking which forced Louis' mouth to speak without a second thought.

"You look great, Harry," styling out his immediate shocked face which graced his features, he let out that infamous grin and bared his shiny pearls.

Harry's eyes shot over to Louis, drinking in his outfit but not once flittering to meet Louis' blues. Louis felt somewhat uncomfortable under Harry's scrutiny, especially with the constant blank expression on Harry's face which showed no approval whatsoever, but he soon got over it as Anne started shuffling around the room in a hurry.

"Oh look at the time! You two better get going! Quick, you don't want to miss them!" She blustered, pushing the boys from the kitchen and into the hallway.

"It's alright, Anne. They should be on at about 9 o'clock-ish and it's only- Oh shit," Louis stammered. "We really should go. We'll be back around half ten, okay?"

"Yes, yes! It's fine, you two have a brill time, alright?" She pulled Harry in for a long hug, still undeterred by the lack of response, breathing him in as if hesitant to let him go. "Have you got your phones? Louis, you have my number so call me if you need me. Seriously, call me if you need _anything_ at all."

"Sure, but it'll be fine, Anne. I'll look after him," Louis smiled sincerely. Anne smiled back in thanks, sending the two out into the crisp night air.

 

The car ride wasn't awkward _as such._ It was just...quiet. The only sound was the rumble of the engine and the murmur of the radio, and sometimes Louis' voice which spoke at random times. He greeted Harry with a 'hello' and a 'how are you?' as normal, only receiving a blank look which was hidden by the awkward fidgeting the lad was doing in the seat. Louis commented on the passing places as they drove, just to fill in the almost silence. He prepped Harry up with information about the gig, the normal lowdown and expectations of it. He chose to ignore the way Harry flinched and sunk down in the seat when Louis mentioned the tight crowd that'd be there, unaware of the reasoning behind it.

They slipped into the venue easily, the thumping of the bass vibrating through the walls as they walked in. Harry's wide green eyes searched the building as they walked up the stairs to their destination, inquisitive and curious. The support band had clearly just ended as they walked into the area when the wall of cheers blew through the air. Louis instantly smiled, loving the atmosphere of being at a gig. He strolled on in front of Harry, sideling up to the bar before taking notice of the boy who was hovering by the entrance.

Harry looked so small stood there, so fragile and scared. His arms were wrapped protectively around his body, and his top teeth clawed over his bottom lip. His eyes danced hurriedly over his surroundings, somewhat anxious.

"Harry," Louis called over the noise. He was thankful that the noise travelled over to the boy who turned to see him and scuttled over quickly.

"You alright?" Louis asked him as he hovered close by.

Harry blinked tightly, followed by little flickers of his eyelids. His chin slowly lowered then raised in a nodding motion, a slow one however that seemed cautious and unconvincing.

"You want a drink?" Louis asked as the bartender started to walk over.

After a moment of, what Louis thought it could've been, contemplation, Harry shook his head from side to side a little, a quiet action.

"Beer, mate," Louis ordered, glancing at Harry as to see his reaction to his order. He wanted to check that Harry didn't mind his alcoholic beverage, due to the fact Harry wasn't drinking with him, but all he saw was Harry staring absentmindedly into the crowd, his eyes hiding a strong emotion Louis couldn't put his finger on.

As the clear cup filled with the amber liquid slid over to him, he passed over the correct amount and motioned for Harry to follow him. He slipped through to a spot in the middle of the crowd, in perfect view of the stage.

"So which song are you most looking forward to then, Harry?" Louis babbled. "I'm quite looking forward to Breakeven if I'm honest; that's always been a favourite of mine. Do you like that one? You must do, it's hard not to. It really pulls at the heart strings-"

Thankfully, Louis' babbling was cut off by the dimming lights and the loud cheers sounding from the crowd. The band members strolled on stage, equipping themselves with their instruments and beginning to play the long awaited music.

 

Songs rolled into more songs, along with equal chat from the band. The crowd was serene, bobbing along to the music and singing along, but not overpowering it. With a few songs of their own under their belt, The Script decided to embrace the crowd with a less calm song.

"We're going to switch it up here," Danny's Irish accent boomed from the stage. "Do any of you know a little song by The Black Eyed Peas, goes by the name of I Gotta Feeling?"

The crowd screamed an answer, spurring knowing smiles from the band. The introductory beats chimed through the venue, the crowd jumping along and changing from the quietude to wildness.

 

_The crowd bounced around Harry, moving the air up and down, up and down. Voices shouted and screamed out the lyrics, blaring noises from blaring faces.  The music clattered through the air in forceful clangs, killing any of the previous atmosphere that he could just about cope with._

_Panic seared through him._

_His chest started convulsing in heavy and laboured breaths. His throat started clamming up, a thick lump preventing easy breathing. The people surrounding him started blurring into one, the edges of their faces and features smoothing into a frizz. His eyes spun around the room in a frenzy, bouncing around for a safe face to aid his shock. All he saw was the blurred, bouncing brown head of hair from behind, no kind face to soothe him. The head which was slowly descending further into the crowd._

_His eyes shot tight closed. Hiding themselves from the dizzying sight. His arms wrapped tightly around himself in automatic reaction to protect himself. Someone's hot body bashed into him, the feel of their touch clinging onto Harry's sweaty skin through the material of his clothing._

_Keeping his eyes tight shut, Harry's arms flung around in an attempt to push away any nearing bodies. He felt his hands connect with skin, a rush of disgust spreading through him as he touched their dripping flesh, and he pushed it harshly away. His hands kept slapping upon bodies, nobody reacting to his desperate calls._

_His lips stayed pressed together._

Louis felt a slap on his back but he ignored it nonetheless. He presumed it was some overexcited person who was most probably drunk; he himself had been in that situation before. However, the hit occurred once more in more of a reckless form, a slap from the back of a hand instead of the palm. Louis span around, expecting to see an off-his-face man smiling giddily, but the sight he saw was far from frivolous.

Harry was thrashing around in almost pain, his expression tainted with panic over the usual blankness. Louis' eyes widened vastly, his eyes expressing his confusion of Harry's unusual actions; well, if they were usual to Harry, Louis wouldn't know, but they weren't usual to any other person anyway.

Harry's hands kept lashing around wildly, hitting off Louis' body. Everyone else in the crowd seemed unaware of Harry's actions and kept with their dancing, but Louis' attention couldn't be drawn away from the younger boy in any way, shape, or form.

"Harry?" Louis said in a questioning tone. But Harry just continued with his movements, his head shaking from side to side harshly.

"Harry," Louis called over the surrounding sounds, but Harry couldn't hear. _All he could hear was the rushing of his thoughts and the pounding of the band and crowd._

Louis clamped Harry's wrists to stop the incessant movements. In reaction, Harry started to thrash around even more, his wrists being gripped even tighter by Louis, the skin becoming red and raw.

"Harry!" Louis kept shouting, but Harry didn't react at all; he was in his own terror world and Louis couldn't penetrate into it at all, even with his loudest shouting and shaking of Harry.

When Harry's thrashing relaxed, Louis' body started to settle into relief, but that was soon washed from his as Harry started to shake violently when the crowd started cheering even louder. 

"Fuck," Louis muttered. He was utterly baffled; he had no idea what to do. Hell, he didn't even know what was happening. Harry looked majorly terrified and not in control of his bodily reactions at all.

"Harry, tell me what's happening," Louis demanded, releasing Harry's wrists and grasping his shoulders to try and shake him out of his trance. Harry's eyes stayed screwed shut, his face wincing.

Looking around hastily for help, Louis saw nobody taking any notice whatsoever. Thinking on instinct, Louis turned Harry around and pushed him through the crowd as fast as he could, guiding the quivering body back to the bar where it was quieter. Harry's hands reached up into his hair and gripped at the curls, massaging his own head somewhat. Slowly, he sunk down to the dusty ground and curled himself into a ball, his shoulders baring the heavy shakes.

As if a shot ran through his pocket, Louis remembered his phone. His fumbling hands trundled in his tight pockets, easing out his phone and nearly dropping it as it slipped from the confines. His fingers trembled as he dialled the needed number, shuddering as he brought the phone up to his ear.

"Hello?" She answered brightly.

"A-Anne, I-I don't know what's happening," the tremor in Louis' voice portrayed his bewilderment.

"Louis? Is that you?" Anne asked for confirmation.

"Y-yes it's me. I don't know what to do, Anne. I'm so sorry."

"What's happened? Tell me what's happened, Louis!" Anne demanded, terror in her voice.

"I don't know! He just started shaking and thrashing and he won't open his eyes and he's curled up on the floor and I just don't know what's happening!" Louis blurted out.

"Oh Lord..." Anne muttered, "I-I didn't think this would happen again. I thought it was just a young, one off thing, I thought he'd have gotten over it-"

"What's wrong with him, Anne?" Louis interrupted lowly.

"He's having a panic attack. He had one when he was younger and I just thought it was because he was a child but obviously it isn't. I shouldn't have let him go, I knew I shouldn't have but I thought it'd be different," Anne babbled.

"Just tell me what to do Anne; I don't know what to do. I need to help him; I need to make it stop," Louis pleaded.

"Okay. Right. Take him outside to get him in the fresh air and away from the noise, sit him on the ground or a bench or something. Hopefully the air will help him enough to calm him, but if it doesn't, then comfort him. I'll be there as soon as I can, just stay there and don't leave," Anne ordered, before ending the call, leaving Louis to cope alone.

 

Taking in a deep breath to calm himself, Louis crouched down in front of Harry. "Harry, I'm going to take you outside, okay? Just walk with me, that's all you have to do," Louis hoped he didn't sound as nervous as he felt on the inside; he didn't know how to act with the breaking boy. Hesitantly, Louis reached over to Harry's arms and pulled him up, guiding the stumbling boy out the building.

The cold air clashed with their overheated bodies as they stepped outside, Harry's shivering advancing with the cold temperature.

"We're just going to go sit over on the bench, alright?" Louis said, not getting any notion from Harry that he'd heard but carrying on with the action nonetheless.

He guided Harry over to the bench, lowering him down slowly. Harry pulled his legs up to his chest and rocked back and forth, breathing deeply, but his shakes never ceasing. Louis fidgeted by his side, not knowing what to do as the time passed by but the attack never calmed. Harry's fingers wound in his own curls whilst his palms covered his ears.

As the familiar silver car that was on the Styles' drive pulled up, Harry's head shot up and his eyes flung open. His chest started heaving up and down again and his breath made a hoarse sound as he took strained breaths.

"Shit," Louis muttered. Seeing Anne struggling to find somewhere to park, Louis glanced at the boy with awkwardness. What could he do?

Without thinking, he reached over and threaded his fingers through Harry's curls as Harry did to calm himself before. The reaction he got, however, was not the reaction he wanted. Harry's body toppled over off of the bench and, as he did that time in Louis' piano room, he shuffled as far away from Louis as possible. His eyes were wide and frightened, as if Louis was a total stranger.

Anne ran over, crouching by Harry and soothing him as best she could. As Louis watched, Anne's motherly power calmed Harry a lot, but not enough for it to kill the panic laced through his features.

"Come on son, let's get you home," Anne said sympathetically, helping Harry up and cradling him over the road, ignoring Louis' presence.

As she set Harry in the car, pressing a kiss on his forehead before shutting the door, Louis called over the road to her: "Will he be okay?"

Anne's head snapped around to Louis, seemingly remembering that he was there. "He'll be okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. It'll just take him a while to get over, but it won't kill him."

"I'm so sorry, Anne, I really am," Louis said sincerely. Anne only nodded and smiled sadly before climbing into the car and driving away, leaving Louis alone with his guilt drenched heart.


	5. Saturday 5

**Saturday 5**

Louis' head dipped down as he walked through the reception, hiding himself from reality. His grey beanie snuggled his head, covering his - in Louis' books - recklessly untouched mop of brown hair that was left limp. The strands felt foreign and heavy on Louis' head as of their lack of thick gel which was normally wound through them to create the masterpiece that was, basically, sex hair.

His skin felt worn and his limbs felt languid. The tanned flesh that covered his body felt, for the first time in a long while, dry and coarse, something usually stopped by his weekly moisturising on Sunday. What could he say, he liked to not only look nice, but feel nice too, regardless of how 'gay' he sounded, he still had to make sure he looked preened to perfection.

He was sure he had dark purple bags under his eyes, that this time he hadn't bother to hide by his secret stash of foundation. Even if he had covered up the evident tiredness he felt, the dragging of his feet and wilted hang of his arms would've betrayed his pretence. He didn't have the energy to lift his limbs even an inch off the ground, so instead he chose to scrape the light soles of his shoes on the flooring and slowly make his way around, the rough scuffle of his dragging following him around as a reminder of his awfully drained state of mind.

The problem was that Louis couldn't make up his mind. He couldn't decide whether it was the right thing to come in search of Harry, or not. He wasn't even sure if Harry would turn up, and the thought of that sinking feeling when he didn't turn up _again_ was utterly disheartening. Nevertheless, Louis had somehow persuaded himself that even if Harry didn't show up, then at least he'd have a final answer on the question which had been circulating his cluttered mind for the past week.

Had he fucked it all up, before it had even began?

What 'it' was, Louis hadn't even decided himself. And if he was honest, it wasn't on his list of priorities just yet. The first thing he had to do in relation to the curly haired boy was smooth things out with him, except that was harder said than done when the boy wouldn't give him the opportunity to do so.

 

**_Saturday 4_ **

_It wasn't as if Louis couldn't walk the short distance from Liam's flat to the dance room in the Uni building, he just really couldn't be bothered. The night before had drained any energy from him, especially the fact he'd drank himself into an oblivion soon after Anne had driven Harry away. He'd watched the silver vehicle trundle down the road, heard the engine roar at first but settle into a boring murmur, smelt that rusty fume infect the air and felt the collapse of his heart in his body._

_It took him a small while for the situation to sink into his pores, to wrap around his cells and suffocate his mind. When the cogs in his brain started clinking, turning slowly in relation to what he could've done to make it all better, not to fuck it all up, he made a beeline for the pub down the road to drench his thoughts in alcohol._

_The next morning he woke up in an unfamiliar bed, well it was unfamiliar at first, then he realised it was Liam's squishy mattress. His head was banging; it felt like there was someone on the inside hammering on the walls of his head and pumping heavy fumes to make him light headed. As soon as his eyes cracked open, they clamped tight shut. The bright light of the morning sun was blinding and he couldn't be bothered to fight the annoying sting it caused to shoot through him._

_Primarily, he didn't know why he woke up so early, and he didn't know how he did, too, what with the tiredness coaxing him back in rather quickly after waking. However, soon enough, four bangs on the door reminded him that he was indeed awoken by that awful racket._

_Shouting a few obscene words to the person on the other side of the door and burying his head in the pillow, Louis tried to block out any thoughts of his surroundings and-well any thoughts of anything really; he just wanted to get back to sleep, pronto._

_Alas, that was not possible as the door flew open and Liam came striding in, pulling the thick, warm duvet off Louis' body and flipping the boy over._

_"Get up," he ordered._

_Louis let out an elongated, muffled 'no' in retaliation, only to receive another diligent, yet slightly less pleasant "get the fuck out of bed you lazy arse" from Zayn who had entered the room shortly after Liam, a bowl of cereal in his hands which he was slurping from messily._

_"I can't or else I'll die," Louis said dramatically, lifting his head from the pillow and directing his speech in, presumably, Zayn's direction but with his eyes refusing to open, he wasn't too sure._

_"You're such a drama queen. Stop being such a diva and get the fuck up," Louis could practically hear Zayn's eyes rolling when he spoke._

_"There is nothing wrong with being a diva from time to time!" Louis said defensively, his pitch rising rather high with his argument._

_"From time to time, it's fine, but you're a diva all the fucking time," Zayn retorted truthfully._

_Louis just made a noise of disapproval and collapsed back onto the bed which Liam was flitting around, tidying up the scattered clothes of Louis' and straightening out the object which Louis had pushed around in search of something or other in the middle of the night._

_"Just get the fuck up or else you'll be late for that Harry lad."_

_And suddenly, Louis was alert. His eyes blinked open, his back straightened when he sat up, his mouth hanging agape. "Shit" was all that he said, the incident from the night before flooding back to him and collapsing on his chest like a tonne of bricks. The feeling did not bode well with his already hung-over state, and he then felt a strong need to throw up the remaining contents of his stomach. With widened eyes and a hand clutching over his mouth, Louis stumbled from the bed, his feet getting tangled in the sheets none-the-while, and into the bathroom. While he clung onto the white seat and threw up a sickly acidic substance, neither of the two boys took it upon themselves to comfort the poorly boy, yet just scoffed at his immediate reaction to the night previous._

_"What, was he really that bad?" Zayn called through mockingly. "God mate, you really need to sort yourself out, you always bag the crap fuckers."_

_"I didn't fuck him, you idiot," Louis called back weakly._

_"Bad snogger then?"_

_"No, I didn't even kiss him."_

_"What, not even-"_

_"Just fuck off Zayn," Louis had reached the end of his tether with the Bradford-bred boy, finding it difficult to act pleasant with the open mocking of both Louis and Harry. Zayn obviously got the picture and left the sickly twenty-one year old alone, knowing not to delve into the details from last night too much or else Louis would snap and he'd end up with the sole of Louis' ballet shoe imprinted across his cheek, again._

_After Louis had thrown up into the basin many a time and brushed his teeth thoroughly, he padded through into the kitchen in search of a hearty breakfast to re-line his stomach. Thankfully, just as he slumped down in the chair, Liam placed a greasy Full English in front of him, along with a steaming cup of coffee and two paracetemol. Shooting a grateful smile towards him, Louis scoffed down the food eagerly, the thick taste gathering in his throat nicely to reaffirm his senses back to their normal state. Louis swallowed the tablets along with a gulp of the hot beverage, then turned to a waiting Liam and Zayn who sat patiently at the opposite side of the table._

_"What d'you want to know then?" Louis said blankly._

_"Tell us about him," Liam prompted._

_"Well what do you want to know about him?"_

_"Anything and everything," Zayn stated simply._

_With a sigh, Louis began telling the two about Harry: the way he looked, the way he acted, the reason he was only looking for a friend in him, the way that even though he said that, he kind of did want something more in a slight way, the way he was 16 and therefore 5 years younger than himself, the way he'd never spoken a single word to Louis because he was in fact mute. To say the two were shocked was an understatement; they were truly astonished as to why Louis was going through the hassle of befriending the boy when it all seemed so difficult._

_After Louis had explained the incident from the night before, Liam finally spoke out his confusion: "Why are you even bothering then?"_

_"What do you mean?" Louis asked with equal confusion._

_"Well he seems so much bother, I mean with all that happened last night I don't see why you're trying to prove yourself to him."_

_"Because- Well, because it's_ Harry, _" Louis confessed._

_"That's kind of the point; it being 'Harry'," Zayn gestured, "is kind of the problem. You shouldn't bother mate, just go for someone easier."_

_When Louis eyebrows furrowed and his face turned somewhat downtrodden, Liam attempted to retrieve their previous comments, "We're just looking out for your best interests; I'm sure he's a sound lad, but I don't really think you've considered everything about him. Just spend some time thinking whether there's much point putting all your effort into him. That's all we're saying."_

_The sound of the chairs scraping back didn't break Louis from his trance that he'd captured himself in, nor the pat on his shoulder as the two boys scampered out the room. He wasn't sure what to think. He wasn't sure whether he should consider what the two boys were saying, or just push it to the back of his mind and maybe one day idly bring it out to wonder upon. He chose the latter, obviously, because with the problem of last night being the most prominent activity in his mind, his priority was to decipher that situation and smooth it out first and foremost._

_Downing the rest of his coffee, Louis set upon getting dressed for his dance class. His headache was still lingering, but the tablets were kicking in effectively and were soothing it mildly. Poking his head around the living room doorframe, Louis muttered a quick thank you and goodbye to the lounging lads before slugging into the cool breeze of the early morning air._

_Once he'd reached his flat in an extended amount of time than usual, he jumped in the shower for a quick wash down, removing that rancid sick smell and the alcohol the clung to his skin. He pulled on his tight black leggings along with his plain white t-shirt. His eyes subconsciously glanced at the clock, noting that if he didn't move soon he'd indeed be late, so he scampered around the house to grab his ballet shoes and shove on his Toms, before quickly snatching his maroon hoodie and leaving the house._

_When he reached the building and entered the reception, his glassy eyes automatically flickered towards the receptionist's desk but didn't react as Brenda waved eagerly at him; they stayed grey and lifeless. The only spark that lingered in the back of them was the hope of finding Harry and sorting out the mess, but as his eyes moved around the room aimlessly, he saw that he was already a few minutes late and Mr. Harbour would give him a right bollocking if he was late once again, especially when he just walked out last week and didn't return to the lesson with even an explanation afterwards._

_Quickening his pace, Louis made sure his eyes didn't stop by the corridor entrance as he scuttled to the dance room, or else he'd most probably find himself staring at it longingly with the forsaken hope that Harry was to dramatically prance from it and wrap his arms around him and-_

_'Louis, you really need to stop that' he thought to himself, shaking his head as if to fling his thoughts into the air around him. Breathing in deeply and ridding himself of any other thoughts than dance and dance only, Louis entered the studio with full determination._

_Of course he was conscious of the sweat that slicked his skin, and the way his slightly-gelled from last night hair was clinging to his forehead and was in constant need of being pushed back, and the fact that, overall, he didn't look the best sight, but that didn't put him off sidling into the piano room. He had nervous butterflies dancing around in his stomach, a flitter and a flutter of worry and hope, as he pushed open the door. The build of up a sorry smile came crashing down into a harsh frown as he saw the emptiness that filled the room._

_The room looked lifeless. The stool was left untouched. The piano was standing large and great, but low and shallow with nobody playing its keys to a tune._

_Louis was utterly disappointed, to put it bluntly. His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach and his ears fuzzed in confusion. He crushed the sprout of hope that maybe Harry was just at the toilet or something of the similar, knowing that the boy wouldn't leave the room unless it was necessary. He didn't deny the downturn of his lips as he turned from the room disheartened, nor did he iron out the crease in his eyebrows as they furrowed together in dismay._

_He slumped back through to the reception, his eyes burning into the flooring as his feet covered their tracks. Not taking notice of his surroundings, he didn't see the oncoming 'traffic' and fell promptly to the floor with a plonk as he crashed into someone. Sighing and rubbing a distressed hand over his face, Louis tore his eyes up to the looming figure._

_"Shit-uhh-Anne, I'm so sorry- I - uh just wasn't looking where-" Louis babbled a mess of incoherent words as he stood up promptly, wiping the - lack of - dirt from his leggings._

_"It's alright, Louis. It was an accident, that's all," the smile that graced Anne's lips had an unknown story behind it. Yes it was as warm as ever, but it also looked...regretful?_

_"Look, Anne. I really just- I want to apologise for last night. I'm so sorry for what happened; I really am. If I could take it all back and make sure it wouldn't have happened I would do in a second, I swear. Please, can you forgive me?" Louis' tone was almost childlike as of the exploited innocence in his final words, the statement something a child would say to another after they'd been naughty._

_"Come over here, Lou," Anne said softly, pulling him over to the cafe and nabbing a table for them. Louis' wide blue eyes looked up at her as he waited patiently for her answer, hidden worry and nerves tingling through the colour._

_"This is going to sound incredibly cliché, but really Louis, it's not you, it's me. Or, well me and Harry, I suppose. You didn't do anything wrong, nothing at all. Nobody was to call that Harry would have an attack, and you'd never handled one before, so how were you to know the signs? I don't want you to beat yourself up over it. I should've known something might happen and I should've either not let Harry go, or pre-warned you. But the basic factor of it all was that I forgot. I forgot that he had that problem and I encouraged him to go, and it eventuated in that. It should be_ me _apologising to_ you _really, I mean, you shouldn't have had to put up with that."_

_"So you forgive me?" Louis asked quietly. His boisterous, confident side was pushed aside for this tender voice._

_"Of course Louis, I was never even mad at you," Anne spoke warmly, her perfectly straight teeth showing through her reassuring smile._

_Louis let out a heavy sigh of relief, a weight being lifted from his shoulder. He still, however, had a thick load on his chest of the small matter of Harry. "Can I- Can I speak to Harry?"_

_Anne's expression turned somewhat sympathetic mixed with inner turmoil. "Harry isn't here today, love."_

_"W-what? -Why? Is this because of last night?" replied Louis in frantic confusion._

_"He's....he's just a little busy, he can't make it this time but hopefully he'll be back next week," Louis saw through Anne's lie immediately. Forget the awkward lack of eye contact and the wringing of her hands on the table; the lie was evident through her stuttered words which were normally flowing smoothly._

_"What's wrong with him, Anne?" Louis said lowly._

_"He's just...he's not doing too well, okay? He's a little shaken up and I didn't have the heart to wake him this morning. He took so long to get to sleep and he'd have been so tired. I sat by his bed until at least half 2 this morning, just holding his hand as he rocked himself in the bed with shudders. I tried to hug him but he just jumped away from me. You don't know how much that hurts, Louis, your baby acting like you're some dangerous stranger. I've put up with it all his life; I've been fine, but I guess it just all crashed down on me. And now I'm worried I'll have made it worse because he hasn't come today so it'll have changed up his routine and he hates that, he_ hates _it so bad. I'm just scared that I'll lose him even more."_

_Louis was truly astonished; he didn't know what to say. Anne had admitted all of that to him so sorrowfully, the tears welling up in her eyes, that he didn't know how to react. As he was about to reach over to her for a comforting hug, a young girl scuttled over. Her pretty pink dress swished by her shins as she twirled over to Anne._

_"Mrs. Anne, Matt asked me to ask you to help him to choose the music for his piece, can you come and help?" she said brightly._

_Anne's watery smile directed towards her before a quick nod. She wiped her eyes with the tip of her finger to reduce make up smudging, and turned to face Louis as she got out of her seat. "I'll see you soon, yeh?"_

_Louis nodded weakly, his thoughts heavily loaded and his attention elsewhere._

After his failed attempt to speak to Harry the week previous, and the emotional confession from Anne, Louis hadn't really been 'with it' all week. Of course he'd faked his usual brightness, but there was a dull linger behind his eyes that he couldn't get rid of.   
That dullness stemmed from guilt: guilt that he had caused Harry not to go to the Uni last Saturday; guilt that he had messed up Harry's routine, which supposedly was a terrible thing to occur; guilt that he had planted the seed of doubt and worry in Anne's mind that had caused her such distress.

His sleeping patterns hadn't changed vastly throughout the week, except for the Friday night. Not only was it a reminder that only a week before had he been truly happy, albeit nervous, but it was also the fact that the next day was Saturday, and ultimately judgement day. Therefore, Louis had only had approximately 3 hours sleep, which was  harder to cope with when alcohol wasn't involved that made that lack of sleep seem worthwhile. Yes another reason for the lowered amount of sleep was due to the words of two of his best friends queries, about wondering whether Harry was worth it, but Louis knew deep down that he was worth it, even if he couldn't explain why all too clearly himself.

However, he trudged into the building - looking awful - with a determined mind to put things straight.

 

He finished his ballet class earlier than usual, Mr. Harbour giving up on Louis' lack of interest in the lesson. Louis couldn't deny his teacher's observations because he wasn't concentrating on the flow of his movements at all. His moves were sloppy and stunted; they didn't smooth together as they normally did, all because of that curly haired boy plaguing his mind.

Slipping unwillingly into that bag of nerves that he was in last week, Louis trundled through the building and through that familiar corridor. He reached the door; it stood tall and dominant, towering over his unusually unconfident, rickety frame. His quivering hand clung onto the door handle, slowly levering downwards cautiously.

The door revealed the room. A constricted sigh of relief held in Louis' throat as he spotted the hunched figure hanging over the front of the piano. The tight black wool slicked over the bent back, the bundle of curls popping over the top to prove that it was in fact the boy in question. The familiar tune, of which Louis was learning at the present time in his piano class, chimed through the room over to Louis, a little tentatively though, as Harry's fingers must've only just graced the top lightly.

He cleared the thick lump in his throat, and Harry's head bobbed around to face Louis, eyes wide and dancing.

"H-hey," Louis stammered through his whisper.

Harry only blinked quickly in response, his orbs looking around in circles but never landing upon Louis' face.

"Can I come in?" Louis asked, although it was actually more his room than Harry's.

If Louis' eyes weren't focused solely on Harry's head, then he most probably would have missed out on the twitch of acceptance from Harry when he nodded stiffly and in slight.

Shuffling in, Louis perched on the edge of the seat which Harry had spared for him. Harry's eyes were downcast on the keys, as were Louis'. The atmosphere was suffocating with tension and awkward density.

Louis tried the only thing he could to diffuse the fairly discomforting feel, and _played._ His fingers tingled against the chilled keys, pressing down slowly but then floating into the sheet music in front of them. Harry soon joined in, timidly if so.

After the notes progressed deeper into the song, the atmosphere lightened as much as possible by a simple tune being played; therefore, it lightened only a small amount. When the pressure was too much for Louis' chest to keep breathing in and out evenly, his fingers halted suddenly.

"Look, Harry, can I just tell you how _sorry_ I am for Friday night? I really can't tell you how bad I feel and I just _need_ you tell me you're okay, because I don't think I'd be able to handle it if I'd hurt you, I really don't think I could," Louis blurted out shakily, interrupting his and Harry’s playing.

"I know it sounds stupid because I hardly know you, but I want to know you Harry, I want to know you so bad, for reasons, if I'm honest, I don't even know myself. I just _do._ But the fact I could've fucked things up right at the start is heart breaking," Louis' hand pulled off his beanie and ran through his messy hair in frustration, then rubbed on his face whilst he chuckled at himself bemusedly.

"Okay, blame me for my overdramatic ways but I'm serious, I can't have fucked it up already Harry, I just can't have."

Harry was frozen by his side, silent still. His fingers were poised on the keys, no twitch or slight movement. Louis could see his eyes stark wide, green orbs shooting forward into bleak space.

"Talk to me Harry, do something, please," Louis pleaded.

Little by little, Harry's head inched around to face Louis.

For the first time, Harry's eyes locked with Louis'.

For the first time, Harry smiled.

Louis was overwhelmed.

The bright, sparkling green of Harry's eyes pierced through his, the gold speckles mesmerising him beyond comprehension.

Although it was just a small tug at the lips, a tiny upturn of the corners of the pink plumps, it was enough for Louis. He felt his heart burst completely in his chest; explode into smithereens from the adorability and perfectness of that one little smile.

It was all he needed to know that everything was alright, and that somehow, he'd gotten through to Harry.

Louis' face broke out into the biggest grin he'd expressed in a long time. His eyes were gleaming with pure joy and happiness. Harry's expression didn't increase, yet it stayed solid with delight and that was more than Louis needed to let out a flutter of giggles. Shaking his head in bewilderment at his excitement over the acceptance, Louis snuck a glance at Harry's blooming face and then realised that he had no need to be embarrassed by his bliss, because he'd just gotten through to Harry Styles. And he felt like everything was just _right_.

"How about I teach you this, for you to learn at home?" Louis offered.

It earned a pleased nod from the younger lad.

And Louis was _more_ than pleased with that; in fact, he was utterly ecstatic. 


	6. Saturday 6

**Saturday 6**

The soft notes floated through the air, prancing over to Louis' ears before bounding into his mind with harsh clunks of the keys. The simple tune turned heavy and slack, lapsing in smooth texture to a rough structure of stammering sounds. As stuttered and messy as it sounded, the song was nothing less than a masterpiece, it evidently only being able to work by the hands of an experienced player with formidable talent.

Louis' eyes widened comically as he stumbled over to Harry in a daze, the boy stuck in a trance of music where he played the familiar piece fluently. Louis stood bewildered by the piano, watching Harry play the instrument until the song ended delicately. His jaw had dropped and his eyebrows had shot up under his feathered fringe. He choked a bemused chuckle out when Harry looked up at him, wide green eyes staring up at his being, but not directly into his eyes.

"What the- how the hell did you just do that?!" Louis said astounded.

Harry blushed, a pink dusting speckling his cheeks and lighting up his face. Louis couldn't think of anything cuter in that moment, because Harry looked so adorable he thought his heart was going to burst out of his chest. Harry’s shoulders raised into a small humble shrug, his teeth bearing over his bottom lip to scrape his face into the most innocent expression Louis had ever seen. 'I actually think I'm going to cry from his cuteness,' Louis thought as his eyes roamed Harry's sweet expression.

"You don't even have the sheet music in front of you! What even- I can't- wow!" Louis babbled, his mouth forming a surprised smile which curved at the side of his lips.

Harry budged up on the stool without thought, offering the space to Louis who took it immediately, still staring incredulously at Harry.

"Are you some kind of musical genius or something?!" Louis asked, grinning.

Harry looked down to hide the ever growing blush on his face, but Louis caught it nonetheless. Harry shrugged once more to seem nonchalant, but Louis knew he'd struck a chord by the twinkle in Harry's eye he spotted whilst Harry lowered his head.

"You're amazing, Harry, seriously," Louis said softly, hesitantly placing his hand on Harry 's shoulder, bypassing the thought of lifting the boy's face up by his chin as that might've been too far. "It's taken me so long just to learn the basics of that song. I haven't, and I don't think I ever will be able to, put that amount of emotion and flow in it as you have. You've got a serious talent there Harry, really, it's incredible."

Harry shook his head sharply, a taught unbelieving expression threaded through his features. His expression showed nothing but the words 'I really don't'.

"You do, Harry, believe me. And don't say I'm lying because my ego is too big for me to say that someone's more talented than me, and I usually never say anything if I think that, so it isn't something light for me to say," Louis chuckled. "So believe me, Harry, when I say you've got a gift."

Moments passed of Harry staring just to the right of Louis' head, before those bright greens connected with Louis' for a split second to somewhat gage whether he was telling the truth or not. Once Harry had gotten the answer that yes Louis was telling the truth, a small pull at the corner of his lips determined to Louis that Harry had accepted the compliment.

"Can we...maybe play it together?" Louis asked apprehensively. Harry nodded surely, strong emotion behind his action. "This is going to sound so stupid...but do you by any chance have the music with you?"

Harry's lips pursed a little into a smirk, seeing Louis blush fiercely at the irony that he was the one to teach it to Harry and he needed the sheet music. Harry pointed over to the brown satchel that lay carelessly on the floor, indicating the location of the sheet. Louis scuttled over and searched through the bag, his hands coming across two pieces of paper.

Pulling them both out, he recognised one to be the sheet music, but the other looked much more interesting. Pausing in his crouched position, Louis' eyes skimmed over the flyer covered in bright flamboyant colours, picking up the main gist of the advertisement.

"Hey, is this for your school talent show?" Louis swivelled on the balls of his feet, successfully not toppling over.

Harry's eyes darted to the flyer, widening slightly with a glare, before his body stumbled from the stool over to Louis, his hands ripping the paper from Louis' fingers. Louis watched as his trembling hands folded the paper up, storing it away in the back pocket of his jeans.

Louis stood up slowly, becoming level with Harry's fidgeting frame. "Are you alright, babe?"

Harry's eyelids flickered and his head shook to bring him out of his daze. He stared blankly at Louis, a wavering glance to his eyes, then focussed on his face in general before nodding curtly and returning to his seat by the piano.

"You should just go for it, y'know, the talent show," Louis suggested, sidling up to the silent boy. Harry scoffed quietly, shaking his head in amusement.

"I'm serious! You should enter it, show off your talent! You're amazing Harry, I'll keep telling you until you realise!"

Harry shook his head sternly, the ferociousness in his actions obvious to Louis that he wasn't going to budge.

"Is-is it because you're worried what people will think? The other students?" Louis asked softly.

Harry's body stiffened; Louis could tell, as much as he tried to hide it.

"What's school like for you, Harry?" Louis wasn't sure whether his question was that of a too forward one for their situation, but he wanted to get to know Harry as much as possible, and to do that he had to be straight to the point. He did, however, ensure his voice was soft and calm as not to alarm the boy.

"Tell me about you, Harry; I want to know you, _please,_ " Louis pleaded. Harry kept staring down at the black and white keys of the piano, eyes locked on them intensely but his body softening into a more relaxed state. "If-if I gave you something to write on, would you tell me that way?"

Louis watched with baited breath as Harry contemplated his offer. He took the side of his bottom lip in between his teeth, chewing on his lip out of habit whilst he thought deeply. It took a while for his definitive answer, an obvious mental war displaying on his face as he debated it. Finally, Harry's wide-eyed expression turned to Louis and he nodded simply.

Louis had to restrain the wide grin that was about to pull on his lips. He felt like his heart had doubled in size out of pride. Scuttling over to the messy pile of papers in the corner, Louis picked up an old, empty music sheet and the bunch of pens lying aimlessly on the floor. Judging the paper to be decent to write on by the only thing covering it being the lines of staves, Louis brought the stationary over to Harry and sat himself on the stool again. Pulling the piano lid down to create a flat surface, Louis placed the paper on the shiny black lid and held the bunch of pens in his hand, the different colours and shapes fanning out from his fingers. Talking through each pen in his classic game-show host voice, Louis offered each pen to the boy animatedly. Harry cracked a tug at the lips, amusement on his features, before plucking out a simple black biro from the tanned fingers.

Taking a pen himself, Louis scribbled the blue ink onto the page;

**How's school then for you, Harry?**

Harry sat thoughtfully for a small while, mulling over his answer. Eventually, he raised the black pen to the sheet and scratched his thoughts down onto the page:

_It's okay, I guess._

Louis realised from that one sentence that, not only did Harry have extremely neat handwriting that was to die for, but he wasn't going to get much out of the boy easily.

**You guess?**

Louis' simple question seemed to stump Harry, his pen tapping on the surface in deep thought as he tried to answer.

_Well it isn't great, but it could be worse._

**How is it not great?**

_It just isn't...it's school, right? Nobody in their right mind likes school_

**I used to like school. Sometimes I wish I could go back just to experience it again.**

_But you aren't exactly in the right mind though are you?_

Louis saw Harry's smirk through his peripheral vision, spotting the cheeky glint in his eyes which stared to the floor. He let out an overdramatic gasp, holding his hand over his heart as if he was offended. Regardless of the mild offence, Louis felt like he'd had a minor breakthrough with the lad; the fact that he was joking around with him showed that he was at least a little comfortable with him.

**I'm just going to bypass that cheeky comment you slipped in there and ask you why you don't like it so much?**

_It's not like I'm dumb or anything, I'm actually pretty clever - even if I do say so myself - so I get good grades in exams and stuff. I just...it's complicated._

**I envy your cleverness. How complicated can it be? Things are only complicated if you make them that way.**

Louis noted Harry's visible hesitation and how his immediate reaction wasn't to write. He stopped still, his pen hovering above the page. Louis thought maybe he had taken it too far, delved too deep.

**You don't have to answer if you don't want to. I don't want you to say anything that makes you uncomfortable.**

_I just...I don't know how to phrase it, I feel stupid saying it_

Harry's head was facing downwards, watching as his fingers twiddled together with an awkward flare.

**Don't. Don't feel stupid. You know I'm never going to judge you, right?**

_Sure..._

**I just want to get to know you, Harry.**

Finally, Harry gained the courage to put his pen to the paper, setting off into a waterfall of words.

_First off, don't think I get bullied. Because I don't. Kinda far off it, really. They don't come close enough to be able to bully me. It's like I've got some kind of contaminating disease that doesn't let people come in a five metre radius of me. Like a force field or something that pushes them away. Nobody's spoken a word to me in years; it's like I'm invisible or something. Not even the teachers talk to me, how stupid is that? I mean obviously, I'm not going to answer their questions but someone who talked to me would be nice, y'know? It's just a bit tiring, the same silence every single day. Nobody really cares._

Louis slowly read the paragraph in which Harry had poured his heart out into. He took in the words, registering them and finding sadness wash through him. He didn't realise school could be so bad for someone. He could feel the emotion through every word, the regret, fear and sorrow filling each word.

Tentatively, Louis lifted his pen over to the paper:

**Harry, I don't know what to say.**

_You don't have to say anything, it's just life; you can't change it._

Louis nibbled on his lip as he thought of a reply. He didn't want to come across needy or too forward, but he didn't want Harry to think he didn't care. It hit home hard, the, somewhat, suffering that Harry had been through.

**But I want to change it Harry.**

_So I don't have any friends, big deal._

**You don't not have any. You have one friend at least.**

Harry sent Louis an incredulous look, baffled and confused. His eyebrows were furrowed together as he wrote his reply.

_What are you going on about? You're mad, Louis._

**Am I mad in thinking that I'm your friend?**

Louis saw Harry's emerald eyes grow in size, his eyes darting around the page in shock. His pen scribbled quickly on the sheet.

_You are?_

**I'd like to think so...do you want me to be?**

_I...I think I'd like that...maybe...yeh, I'd like that_

Louis smiled too when Harry let the corners of his lips upturn sweetly. Scarlet sprinkled all over Harry's cheeks, and he bit his lip - which looked rather enticing to Louis, he had to admit - in hidden joy.

**Do you think that, maybe, as friends would, we could make use of the sunshine and go to the park for an ice cream?**

_Really? You want to go out with me?_

_I don't mean like that, obviously, but like, you want to go somewhere with me?_

**Yeh I do, what's so surprising about that?**

_I don't know, just nobody has asked me to go somewhere before..._

**Never?**

_Not as far as I can remember anyway, and I have a pretty good memory, I'll have you know._

**Woah. Erm- so are you okay with the offer then?**

_Yeh, I'd love to_

**Cool, should we head off now then?**

_Can I tell my Mum first though?_

**Of course, can't leave Anne in the dark can we?! Do you want me to bring some more paper for you to write on?**

**We don't have to if you don't like, you've said a lot today already. I don't want to pressure you or anything**

_I don't know...I don't want you to get sick of me..._

**What?! I could never get sick of you Harry!**

_It's quite an easy task to be honest_

**Seriously Harry, I want to get to know you. It's not like I'm being asked to, I'm choosing to myself, okay?**

_Sure?_

**100%**

_Okay...well maybe we can bring some just in case, I'm not promising anything though_

**Ooh hard to get, I like it!**

_Shut up_

Louis broke the everlasting silence with a brash laugh, the happy sound vibrating around the room. "Come on, babe; let's go find your Mum."

 

The pair left the safety of the piano room, trundling through the building in search of the familiar head of dark hair. Louis ignored the shooting inquisitive glances from his fellow students about the unknown boy by his side, the boy who was slumping his shoulders and trailing behind in shyness.

If Louis had seen someone else walking around confidently with a younger boy who obviously didn't express the same confidence, he probably would have sent them a querying look too; but being in the situation himself, he didn't see the difference between walking with Harry than with anyone else.

The two found Anne by the stage fussing around with two other women with the microphone stands. Louis informed her of their plans, ensuring her that the pair would be back by the time she would leave the University. The look on Anne's face was priceless; she looked truly overjoyed. Her grin was extremely wide, and if the prolonged tight hug of both of them at once was much to go by, Louis was sure he had her approval of their newfangled friendship.

As they walked the short distance to the park, Louis threw his arm over Harry's grey jumper clad shoulders, his hand curling around the end into a light grip. Harry tensed under the touch, and Louis wasn't sure whether to remove the casual arm or not. He did it without thinking; it was just a normal action for him. But Harry's awkward stiffness made him reconsider his actions, and whole outlook.

He realised that with Harry, things were going to be different. He wouldn't be able to do the normal casual motions of scuffling his hair, or something like he just did. Surprisingly, Louis didn't dislike that thought too much. Yes it would be tricky for him to change his habits, but for some reason he knew he could do it, for Harry.

It seemed that Harry had a change in his normal facade suddenly. His shoulders relaxed and his tensed structure fell through, his body actually leaning into Louis' slim frame. Louis had a secret grin on the inside as he felt the boy's body close to his, the proximity new and exciting in his mind.

As they turned into the ice cream store, Louis felt his stomach growling in appreciation at the sight of all the types of treats. The different flavours were cast across the counter, ranging from ordinary to extraordinary.

"What can I get for you, dears?" the old woman behind the desk asked in her friendly tone.

"Ermm-" Louis' eyes wandered over the flavours, mentally setting aside some of the overly obscure tastes. "Can I just have the...toffee ice cream please?"

"Sure thing, darl," the woman gathered the scooper and delved into the tub, scooping out the deliciously golden ball of sweetness onto a light cone. "What about you, hun?" she directed to Harry as she handed Louis' order over into the tanned hands.

Harry looked up in shock at her, eyes wide and alarmed. Louis could almost see the thoughts running through his mind. Not only was Harry shocked at the verbal contact, but he didn't know what to do. Louis suspected that he was usually with Anne or his other family members the majority of the time, and when he was alone that he was in a place that knew about his 'problem'. Sweeping in to somewhat save the boy, Louis swiftly moved over next to Harry and wrapped his arm around his shoulders.

"Point to me which you want, Haz," Louis whispered in his ear - or more like mass of curls.

Harry's head spun around to face Louis', his eyes expressing shock but amusement. Harry smirked.

"What? What did I do?" Louis said in confusion. "C'mon Haz, tell me what I said," Louis moaned.

Harry shot him another amused look, making it click in his mind what he said. "Oh right- sorry, Haz just kinda...slipped out," Louis smiled sheepishly. "Is that okay?"

Harry nodded brightly, before turning to face the array of ice creams. His stance was no longer anxious and was fairly relaxed as he pointed to the Raspberry Ripple ice cream, looking at Louis for approval childishly.

"Good choice," Louis nodded, a smile on his lips. "One scoop of Raspberry Ripple please."

The woman sent the pair an odd look, but kept the grin on her face as she scooped up the swirled colour onto the cone and handed it over to Harry. Harry instantly licked at it, smiling a closed-lipped smile in pleasure.

"That's £3.90 please." Louis’ hand shot down to his front pocket, rummaging around to find the correct change. As he handed over the full amount, his hand knocked with another.

Looking at Harry curiously, Louis protested, "What are you doing? It's my treat!"

Harry shot him a look, pushing his hand over Louis' to move it away.

"No, I'm paying. I insist!" Louis said, pushing Harry's hand away and plopping the money in the woman's outstretched cupped hand before Harry could react.

"Now come on, I want to go up the hill!" Louis clutched Harry's wrist and pulled him out the shop. As they were engulfed by the sunshine, Louis suddenly exclaimed, "Race you!"

He was off like a shot, running off in front of Harry in the direction of the hill. Harry caught up rather quickly when Louis lapsed in energy, surprisingly soon for the dancing boy, and they ended up collapsing at the top of the hill with a stumble, panting heavily but happy nonetheless.

And that was when Louis heard something that made his heart burst in his chest. His eyes actually clouded over when he heard it, a feeling he couldn't really put his finger on. He knew that one of the emotions rushing through his body was most definitely bliss. The sound was like music to his ears.

What he saw was a sight for sore eyes, that's for sure. It was wide and gorgeous, stunning and bright. He saw a side to Harry he didn't expect to see, let alone so early. He felt pride. Pride because _he_ had caused that look upon Harry's face. Louis didn't want to get into the fact that, god, those teeth were so perfectly straight he wanted to run his tongue over them and feel- wait, what? Anyway... It was such a happy, joyous and euphoric look that Louis would never forget.

It was beautiful. That was the only way to describe it.

Harry Styles had just laughed, loudly so and sending out nothing but happiness and Louis couldn't think of anything more beautiful.


	7. Saturday 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It gets better, I swear. I just read through this and I know it's pretty crap, but if you hold out it will improve! xx

**Saturday 7**

"Oh for God's sake, Harry, why did you put those shoes on?! I told you to bin them!" Louis heard Anne exclaim as he entered the piano room after fetching a quick snack from the café in the middle of his and Harry's piano time. Harry was sat on the edge of the stool, knees pulled up to his chest but his feet dangling off the side of the seat. Anne was stood to the side of him, glaring down at the wrecked trainers that were on Harry's feet, a hand clutching the roots of her hair in somewhat slight anguish.

Harry's hands instantly reached down to cover the broken shoes in defence, hiding the scuffed material. The sole that flopped down sorrowfully was held in place by Harry's fingers - _those long, thin fingers that would feel so-_

Louis shook his head inwardly, pushing those thoughts out of his mind and focusing on the verbally one-sided but –evident to Louis– two-sided, argument between the two people in front of him. Harry's glare spoke louder than Anne's words, his green eyes flicking from his weathered shoes to Anne's figure, as if translating the fact that he didn't approve of her, well, disapproval.

"Louis! Louis, Louis, Louis," Anne muttered. "Will you _please_ tell Harry that he needs some new shoes? They're horrendous!"

Louis chuckled lightly, plonking himself down on the floor in front of the stool Harry was sat at and crossing his legs. "Well I mean...they aren't in the best condition, I guess," he said tactfully.

Harry's eyes turned innocently wide, looking almost hurt. Louis couldn't stand the expression; it was tugging on his heart too much that he instantly corrected himself. "But if he can still walk in them, then it's alright."

"He can barely walk in them! And- no, Harry, don't pretend you can, because you trip up all the time in them- what, no! I see you tripping up! I see you with my own eyes! And no, don't say I need glasses because I really don't," Anne ranted, interrupting the start of Harry's protests. "We're going shoe shopping after this, I'm not taking no for an answer, Mister!"

Louis watched in amusement as Harry rolled his eyes dramatically at Anne, his hands scrambling to find a pen and paper before scribbling out a word in large capital letters:

_GEMMA_

It was as if a light bulb of remembrance when off in Anne's brain and she suddenly remembered whatever it was that had to do with Gemma.

"Oh gosh, Gemma! I totally forgot! Our girly time for the month! Damn, going shopping will really mess things up..." She murmured thoughtfully. Harry's expression wasn't overly joyful, as per usual, but Louis could spot the hint of smugness over the decease of the argument. As much as Louis wanted to side with Harry, Anne's troubled expression was more extreme. She looked as if she were having an internal battle with herself, trying to decide on how to resolve the situation.

"Well... maybe I could take Harry out shoe shopping?" Louis said, his tone questioning and unsure.

Anne's head whipped around- more like down as he was sprawled on the floor- to Louis, her eyes lighting up. "You would do that?!" she exclaimed with hope.

"Yeh, I don't mind," Louis shrugged nonchalantly.

"You really don't have to, Louis; don't feel obliged to if you don't actually want to."

"No, seriously, I really don't mind. It'll be nice to spend some more time with Haz," Louis said sweetly, a blush lighting up his cheeks. He was unaware to the glow that flushed on Harry's cheeks also, the discreet compliment and use of his new nickname attacking Harry's calm exterior.

Anne looked as if she were about to burst with joy after Louis spoke, and Louis wasn't sure why. Her perfect smile spread across her face; her eyes creased at the corners. Her hands lay fanning out under her jaw, a look of somewhat awe mixed in with the happiness. Her eyes flickered between Harry and Louis, searching out Harry's lack of reaction and the ease in which Louis spoke his words with a relaxed manner.

"What? Do I have something on my face?" Louis asked awkwardly as Anne locked onto him with her eyes.

"Haz?" she said questionably.

Louis flushed scarlet pink instantly and he ducked his head to hide his embarrassment. "Sorry, it just keeps slipping out," he winced.

"No no, don't apologise! It's adorable!" Anne said with a grin. Her hand reached over to Harry's curls and ruffled them playfully, but the mood dropped as he edged the seat further away from her soon after the action, a frown etched on his features.

Anne cleared her throat awkwardly, dismissing the thick tension in the air. Maybe it was from the unwanted physical contact on Harry's part, or maybe the fact he was embarrassed by the action in front of Louis. After all, the ruffling of his hair from his mother didn't really pronounce 'grown up'.

"Are you sure you're alright with this, Louis?" she questioned again.

"Anne, I'm totally sure! Go and have your girly time with Gemma, leave me and Harry to our boy time!"

"I suppose so; I need to stop fussing around!" Anne chuckled. "Right then, I best be off. Just give me a buzz when you're finished, yeh? You've got each other's numbers just in case you get lost or anything, so make sure you use them, alright Harry? Good, so I'll see you when I see you then!" Anne said efficiently, sneaking a glance at her watch at times.

After an awkward hug with Harry and a more comfortable hug with Louis, Anne scuffled out of the room. Louis watched as her slender frame drew out of sight before turning back to his partner for the day. As he looked over at him, he noticed Harry scribbling on the piece of paper that previously had 'GEMMA' written on, the writing visible through the sheet.

_Boy time? Really?_

Harry wrote, a suspicious eyebrow raised above his emerald eyes.

"Yes! What's wrong with that?!" Louis exclaimed in offence.

**_Boy_ ** _time?_

Harry reiterated on the paper, scratching his pen over the word 'boy' dominantly. A smirk lined at his lips lightly, just a small purse of the plump pinks that showed the emotion.

"What do you mean, _'boy_ time'?" Louis asked, gesturing with inverted commas and stressing how Harry wrote the words.

_I don't mean to offend you, but you aren't really the most masculine of men are you, really? And boy time is more supposed to be like manly stuff...not shopping._

Louis mock glared at Harry but he couldn't restrain the bubble of laughter that popped through his lips. "I guess that's true, but still! We're both boys, so therefore we're having boy time! Don't use my campness against me! I'll have you know, it's a skill to be so feminine as me!"

_Yes, feminine, not masculine: i.e. girl not boy. Boy time is watching football with beers and pizza in your boxers, basically pigging out. Not shopping._

"Well we can do that if you want to do the definition of 'boy time' to live up to it," Louis suggested sensibly.

_No thanks, I think my Mum would kill me if I didn't get any new shoes and she caught me drinking, so it's really a no go 'time' to be honest._

Louis looked at the statement, considering the words. Fair enough; he understood the shoes statement, but the drinking? Had Harry never drank before?

"Wait...you don't drink?" he asked curiously.

_Nope. Never. Why, what's so bad about that?_

Louis stared a little dumbfounded at Harry; he'd never honestly drank? "No, there's nothing bad about it. I've just never heard of anyone at your age who hadn't drank anything...I guess it was just the way of life in Doncaster, though; it's different in different places, I guess. If you don’t mind me asking, is it that you don't _want_ to, or that you aren't _allowed_ to?"

Harry hesitated in contemplation.

_Well...I guess it's a bit of both. My mum kind of mollycoddled me through life, so she's always gone on about how bad it is to drink so young and how it's illegal and stuff, so she's kind of drilled it into me. I mean, I wouldn't pass up on an offer of a drink, but I wouldn't out rightly go and get one, y'know what I mean?_

"I understand what you mean. I think it's a good attitude you have there. You have morals that I wish I'd had at your age- Shit, is that the time? We really need to get going, Haz, before the shops shut, come on!" Louis started off gently, but his words heightened with expression as he noticed the time on his phone and he jumped up instantly, grabbing Harry's wrist and pulling him out of the room.

 

They'd been searching through the shops for over an hour and had no success. Everything Louis pointed out was either too fancy, or too plain; he ostensibly couldn't do anything in the middle, always the extremist.

Louis had to admit, those fluorescent green, pink and yellow knee-high trainers - which were supposedly for men, although the colour scheme really wouldn't fit with the normal jean colour of males Louis thought - which he pointed out were only for his amusement. Watching Harry try to break it to Louis gently, whose acting skills outwitted themselves as he made a very convincing act of really liking them, that they _'just aren't really my type'_ was utterly hilarious, especially when Louis almost nearly got him to try them on but his facade cracked and his loud laugh boomed through the shop. Harry had blushed ferociously as all eyes turned to them, and although Louis' laugh was like music to his ears, the attention was vastly unwanted and he scampered out of the shop as fast as lightning.

Louis clapped a hand on his back in an apology, steering him away from the shop of unusual shoes and to a more reputable store with less obscure and unique designs. The blush slowly faded from Harry's cheeks, even though Louis wished it'd stay longer because it was truly endearing.

They trundled into another shop later on, tired and disheartened by the lack of success. Workers were placed around the shop, evidently worn out from their hard day's work and wishing the end of their shift would just finish already. There were a couple customers browsing the shelves, picking up potential shoes but placing them down as they spotted another pair which looked basically the same. Louis and Harry wandered around, skimming over the rows of shoes which weren't suitable.

Louis gasped as his eyes roamed the shop and landed on a familiar stall. Muttering a quick 'I'm just over there' to Harry, he rushed over to the TOMS shelves, his fingers tracing the new patterns in awe.

Meanwhile, Harry scanned the Converse stack, nodding inwardly in approval of the simple designs which weren't too plain, but not too eccentric. His eyes spotted a pair of classic white, lo Converse which were simple enough not to stand out dramatically. He picked the pair up, swivelling them around in his hands and looking at them intricately.

Suddenly, a gruff voice sounded from in front of him, shocking him to a slight jump. "Can I help you, mate?" the scruffy man said roughly.

The worker was rather unkempt, his hair scruffy and overgrown stubble that was in between nice stubble, and well, a feeble beard lined his jaw. Harry's eyes scoped him out, looking at his messy attire in which his jeans were ripped at the knees and his shoes were in an even worse-a state than Harry's. His stomach protruded from the bottom of his top, the sliver of skin hairy and disgusting. Harry's nose crumpled up at the sight.

Forgetting that the man could see his obvious 'checking out' - not in that way, obviously - and that the guy had spoken, Harry realised he hadn't heard anything the man had said.

"Look, jus tell me the size you want and I'll get it for you," the man said grumpily.

_Harry stared at him, unsure on what to do. His eyes were wide and panicked. He could feel his heart pumping in his chest ten to the dozen. His lungs were heaving as his mind circled around in confusion and lack of understanding of what to do._

_Contract. Relax. Contract. Relax. Contract. Relax._

_He kept breathing heavily in short breaths._

"Hello? Is anyone there?" the man mocked, pretending to knock on an imaginary door in front of Harry.

_Harry's eyes flickered around the wall behind the man, tracing an outline around the man's figure._

_Harry's lips were pursed together tightly, not moving._

"Wow. What the fuck is wrong with you man? All I'm trying to do is help!" the man's voice raised at Harry's lack of communication.

_Harry wanted him to leave._

_He wanted him to walk away and let Harry run out the shop, all the way back home._

_He didn't know what to do. The man was demanding answers, not letting the subject drop, and nobody was there to help him._

"What, are you some kind of freak who can't speak or something?" The man nearly shouted. It was more the cruel look on his face that was the loudest, not the volume.

_It scared Harry._

_Too much._

_Discarding the drop of his heart as the man spoke the words 'freak' to him, the word which he was starting to let drift away now Louis was making him feel more accepted than he ever had, Harry didn't know what to do._

Suddenly, a hand touched his shoulder and Harry bounced from it. His head shot to the right in shock, eyes wild and blaring with fear. The fire was distinguished though as soon as he saw Louis stood there, feeling a little more at ease with the fact it wasn't someone else ready to ambush him.

"What the hell is going on here?" Louis asked sternly to the man.

"The lad isn't fucking talking!" the man exclaimed, his grotty face scrunching up in distaste. His stumpy fingers pointed at Harry accusingly, and immediately Louis moved to stand in front of Harry. His arms hung behind him, holding Harry's body behind his directly, protecting him.

"And?! What has that got to do with you?!" Louis cried back.

"I'm offering him help and he isn't taking it! It's fucking rude!" the man shouted back.

"No, what I think is rude is how you're treating him! You're the one being a dick, not him!" Louis face was colouring up, a red of anger spreading across his skin as he heated up with fury.

"How the hell am I being a dick to him? He's the one ignoring me!" the man retorted with annoyance.

"He isn't ignoring you! If he was ignoring you, he wouldn't even be here right now because he would've walked out of this shop! Do you have no sense in that tiny brain of yours?!"

"Well he isn't replying to me and that's as good as ignoring!"

_Harry wanted to scream. He wanted to scream for them to stop._

"It's not his fucking fault he can't reply! He didn't choose to be mute! He didn't choose to not be able to speak!" Louis bellowed loudly, the sound echoing in the silent shop. "He doesn't want it to come across as ignoring, but sometimes it just does because he just doesn't understand. But that doesn't make him a _freak_ or a _weirdo,_ it makes him real. It makes him more of a man than you'll ever be because he has feelings. Unlike you, he actually cares about people. You don't give two shits whether you hurt someone or whether you scare them; it's all in a day's work for you, isn't it?! Shouting at young boys and freaking them out until they break, I bet you love it! You're a sick bastard!"

Louis' loud rant came to a halt, his breaths panting out hotly. His face was bright red, a frown drawn on his face. His arms were still locked around Harry's waist, a tight clench gripped around him so he didn't move, so he didn't get hurt.

As the man stood in silent shock, dull eyes wide in astonishment; Louis sent him one last dirty glare before unlatching his arms from Harry and grasping his wrist. He stomped out the shop angrily, ignoring the stares from the other customers and workers. He kept marching until he left the shopping centre and got out into the fresh air. He slumped down by the side of the building, not caring about the cigarette butts he must've been sitting on. He breathed in deeply and let the cool breeze enter his lungs and slowly rid him of the rage he felt. His eyes were shut tightly, blocking out any sight that would distract him from calming his emotions.

After a few minutes, he heard material slide down the wall. He cracked his eyes open and slightly turned his head to the side to spot Harry sitting awkwardly by his side.

"I'm sorry," Louis croaked. "I didn't mean to, I just got so angry at him and-"

Harry's arm lifted slowly, hesitantly and tentatively. It raised above Louis' head and curled around his shoulder. His body was pulled in to the warmth of Harry's. His head lay on Harry's beating chest.

Louis needn't have said anymore apology, because he knew he was forgiven.

He loved the feeling he had being in Harry's arms. Yes, it was slightly awkward and not fully open and relaxed, but it was something. It was warm, comforting and everything he had imagined, maybe even more. It was strong. Strong and wholesome. But still gentle and soft at the same time. Harry's heat beat fast, Louis realised. He liked it.


	8. Saturday 8

**Saturday 8**

The club was buzzing around him, people bustling around the place: to and from the bar, drinks sloshing in glasses. His eyes danced around the dark premises, squinting through the flashing lights to see the dancing people. Louis wasn't really phased by the grinding couples on the dance floor, nor was he that bothered when he was practically knocked over when he first walked into the club by a girl and a boy who were practically eating each other's faces off. It wasn't the most pleasant sight, but it was a sight which he was used to. It wasn't like the boys would suggest going to a gay bar any time soon, unless one of them had a sudden change in direction and then he could argue it wasn't one against three.

He leaned back against the cool bar, bringing the hand that nursed a beer up to his lips to wipe away the dribble of alcohol that rolled down his chin after he gulped down the rest of the bottle.

 

Zayn was slumped over a small glass of whiskey, a profound frown on his face as he stared into it deeply. Louis didn't have the heart to tell him that really, Holly wasn't ever going to stay once he told her he actually liked her; I mean, had he not noticed the eyes she made at every boy who walked by? She even snuck a cheeky wink at Louis, regardless of the fact he was gay. She was just gagging for it, and Zayn was a good catch, Louis could confirm that himself. His dark and mysterious facade matched his rugged looks, and really, Holly's plastic form was never going to be good enough for him, regardless of her lack of want for a proper relationship.

Niall, on the other hand, was cackling loudly, head thrown back with laughter. His hand was wrapped around a beer, casually bringing it up to his lips randomly. His bright blue eyes shone through the darkness, the glint present which he always got when he had alcohol in his system. Niall always said he was at home with alcohol; Louis decided to blame that on him being Irish rather than claiming it was some sort of alcoholic addiction. Niall's other arm was wrapped around a tall lean, dark haired girl who he must've picked up recently, or else Louis must've been out of it for quite some time. She was giggling rather sweetly - verging on annoyingly though for Louis - as she swivelled around and pulled the blonde lad into a raunchy kiss.

Liam was sat on the bar stool, the only one out of the four of them being lucky enough to nab the seat. He was smiling softly down at his phone. Louis could spot that sappy look a mile off, or more precisely, his 'Danielle-look'. He was completely smitten with her, no matter how much he protested, Louis could tell how deep his feelings for her drove through his body.

The thing was, was that there was this untold 'rule', as such, that the four of them were bound to. It wasn't created purposefully, it just...appeared. Louis guessed it was Zayn who enforced it, with his rebellious teenage years of sleeping around with _a lot_ of girls. The whole facade they created was that they weren't serious. About love that is. Yes they'd claimed to be in love times before, but they were too young to know then; well, that's what they told themselves anyway. None of them wanted to be branded as 'whipped' or anything of the similar, so they acted in the most classically 'lad-ish' ways possible and pretended they didn't care as much as they did.

 

Having transferred over to a booth that had become available, and settled into the leather seat,  Zayn on one side and Niall on his other - who had seemingly lost the girl clinging onto him before-, Louis finally participated in the conversation between his friends. Surprisingly enough, the other three were considerate over Louis' lack of interest in mundane topics like football, so he joined in animatedly as they talked about how Zayn's youngest sister had picked herself up a boyfriend. Zayn was fuming; that in itself was hilarious to Louis. But then again, if the same were to happen to his sisters, he'd have been as angry as Zayn; he could fill the overprotective brother role quite well, even though he never had the chance to use it that much.

"But she's thirteen! It isn't even right!" Zayn objected.

"You said you had your first girlfriend at thirteen! I don't see the problem!" Niall chanted back.

"Have you _seen_ the guy, Niall? He's a freak! He doesn't deserve someone like her!"

Just as Louis was going to involve himself in the conversation, a sharp buzzing in his pocket pulled him away from his thoughts. Rifling in his pocket, he fished out his phone. He restrained the small smile threatening to burst through his lips as he saw the name flashing on the screen: Harry.

_From: Harry (20:17)_

_Hey Lou, you alright? :) xx_

 

Louis' heart soared. He loved it when Harry called him 'Lou'; it sent tingles through his body. It made him feel... _special._ No, it wasn't the only time he'd been called that, but with Harry it was different. Harry didn't seem like the type who got emotionally attached to someone, and on Louis' terms, a nickname was quite a big step. It shows you're comfortable with the person. And that, in effect, made Louis especially happy because it showed Harry was becoming used to Louis' presence and felt he was close enough to him to use a nickname back.

_From: Louis (20:19)_

_Hey babe, I'm smashing thanks! And your kind self? ;) xxx_

_From: Harry (20:21)_

_That's good! I'm doing great, guess what my Mum just bought me?! Xx_

_From: Louis (20:23)_

_What?! Xxx_

_From: Harry (20:24)_

_The Definitive Collection - Stevie Wonder! Xx_

_From: Louis (20:26)_

_Oh that's so cool Haz! Xxx_

"Fuck, Louis, who the hell are you texting? You're never off it!" Liam asked Louis, startling him away from his phone. His phone dropped onto the sticky table with a clatter making Louis let out a yelp of shock.

"Ooh, is it a new lad?" Zayn teased, pulling on Louis' cheeks mockingly.

Scoffing as he pushed off Zayn's joking hands, Louis mumbled a jumble of incoherent words to try divert their attention.

"What was that?" Zayn laughed.

"I said it's nobody," Louis didn't register in his mind the reason why he wasn't telling them it was Harry, he just based it on the fact the alcohol was setting in and he was speaking oblivious to his normal thoughts that he'd think.

"Sure," Zayn droned.

Suddenly, Niall pulled the bottle of beer from his lips, blue eyes wide and full of remembrance. "Oh my god, do you remember that guy who couldn't speak? I seriously don't have a clue why you took him out, Louis, he was such a freak," his laughter boomed through the air, along with Zayn's and Liam's chuckle he couldn't suppress.

Louis stared down at the table, unsure on what to say. He could feel the swirl of anger in his stomach but it wasn't as strong as it was the previous week, numbed somewhat by the alcohol and it being his friends saying the harsh words.

"Shit, yeh, and he went all dodge at the gig, like freaking out and stuff? Like seriously, how fucked up must that lad be? Who even does that?" Zayn boomed out, laughing continually. Liam didn't hold back his laughter any longer and laughed along with the two others.

None of them took notice of Louis' battle he was having. As much as he wanted to fight back, tell them it wasn't like that and Harry was different to what they thought, these were his _friends._ He couldn't have them thinking he was acting way off course and totally un-cool; he couldn't have them thinking he was friends with a _'freak'._

"It's just weird how he can't speak, like how wrong would it be to fuck him and him just not make a noise? It's fucking weird man, that's all I can say!" Niall piped up, his mouth bubbling with mocking laughter. Zayn, who had just brought the beer bottle to his lips, had to put it down quickly, covering his mouth to prevent the liquid spilling out his mouth as he needed to burst out in laughter at the image. Louis let out a forced laugh; the others seemed to deem it as real.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed loudly on the table as the laughter died down a little, random bursts of chuckles floating out of his friends' mouths as they remembered the conversation. Louis' hand belted forward to reach it, but was just too slow as Zayn's tanned fingers clutched at it first.

Louis protested, reaching out for the phone by flailing around over Zayn who held it high above his head.

"C'mon, Zayn, give it back," Louis pouted.

"Nope, I want to see who's been texting you all night!"

"Please, Zayn, can you just drop it and let me have my phone back?" Louis whined.

Zayn shook his head determinedly. "What, are you embarrassed by who you're texting?"

Louis froze, what was he supposed to say? Inside, of course he wasn't embarrassed. But if Zayn didn't obey his wishes and looked at the flashing name on the screen, then his whole facade would be broken, and who knew what the boys would say.

He couldn't risk getting caught; so he pretended that he was blushing and looked down, his acting skills coming in handy.

"Wahey! Tommo's embarrassed! This is a rarity, isn't it?" Zayn taunted, nudging Niall playfully and eyeing Louis.

"C'mon, Zayn, I wanna see who it is!" Niall said eagerly, pulling the phone from Zayn's fingers and looking at the screen intently.

Louis watched nervously as a wash of confusion spread over Niall's face, a furrowed brow and small frown of concentration. "Who's Harry? I swear his name rings a bell..."

"Wait...wasn't Harry the one who couldn't speak?" Zayn accused, eyes narrowing as he turned from facing where Niall held to phone, to Louis.

"Uh-erm yeh I s'pose," Louis stuttered awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Why are you texting _him_?" Liam asked, joining into the conversation as he leaned forward.

"I-he...just- he keeps texting me and like he just won't stop, y'know? I just want to tell him, like, fuck off nobody wants you, but he's probably like emotionally unstable so he'd probably kill himself or something."

Louis gulped down the remainders of his drink in one fell swoop, hiding the guilty look that was probably plastered upon his face. He couldn't deny the heavy feeling he felt on his heart; it was suffocating.

The three boys, however, didn't notice this and chuckled at his words, agreeing with him with words like "God, what an asshole" and "He's pathetic".

"I'm going to get another drink, you guys want one?" With refusals from them all, Louis snatched his phone from Niall's hands and sauntered over to the bar, the only thing on his mind being getting totally and utterly hammered.

 

He was drunk. Supposedly, those pink drinks were stronger than Zayn said, so five of them really didn't bode well in Louis' body. The alcohol had gone straight to his head. Any worry had been drenched in the lethal substance, dissolved into a matter which felt like it meant nothing at all.

However, that didn't dispose of the slight burn he felt in his pocket, the heavy weight that kept him weighed to the ground all night. It wasn't overpowering enough for him not to feel giddy and kind of out of his mind, but it was lingering there with all its thunderous responsibility and it couldn't really be ignored.

In Louis' pocket, was his phone, which had been vibrating practically every ten minutes for however long he'd been in the club. He learned to ignore it though, because as soon as he went to fetch it he suddenly felt as if all of his friend's eyes were zeroed in on him and they were judging him with all their being. They weren't, obviously; they were totally oblivious, but Louis was paranoid. He suspected it was the alcohol messing with his brain.

He was on the edge of the grinding crowd, bouncing and dancing along to the booming bass of the music being blasted around. Some girls were dancing drunkenly on the small raised stage that Louis was near to, showing themselves off to the whole club with little dignity. The other boys were by his side, Zayn and Niall watching the girls with drooling, needy eyes and Liam was just happily dancing away, not really taking an interest in the girls.

Three of the girls were whispering to each other, glancing down at the four of them. Louis noticed them totter over in their extremely high heels, their skimpy bodies being draped over Louis and Zayn when they arrived over to them.

"Hey, boys," one of them winked seductively at Niall.

"One of you fancy a dance on the stage with us?" another asked, directing it to them all, her hands curling around Zayn's shoulder. None of them answered, but all smirked towards Louis who was stumbling a little, not being able to stand still with the music and also the product of being too drunk.

"How about you, sexy?" the skinny blonde asked Louis, her finger trailing up his chest in nothing but a seductive manner.

"He's gay and he's a really fucking good dancer," Niall slurred bashfully. The girl didn't seem deterred, her finger still trailing up towards Louis' face where it rested on his lips.

"Fancy dancing up a storm with me up there? You're not with someone are you?"

Louis' blurred mind wasn't sure what she meant by the latter question, so if she was asking whether he was with anyone actually in the club, she was way off track. But Harry's face flashed into his mind, slightly shaky around the edges and not really precise, but a vision of him nonetheless. He wasn't with Harry, but this was _Harry_ they were talking about so everything was different; so what they 'had' was something to hold onto and not let go by dancing with some random girl.

That image was, though, wiped from his mind as 'S&M' started blasting obnoxiously and he just couldn't resist to grind to the dirty beat. Pulling his valuables out of his pocket that restricted total flowing movement, Louis threw them over to Zayn as he grabbed onto the girl's wrist and pulled her onto the stage.

People cheered as his body rolled, shoulders shook and hips ground on the girl's ass. His head flung back in bliss, loving the attention. His alcohol addled mind embraced the pulling on his trousers from the people below, didn't even care when someone so boldly grabbed his crotch. His eyes were constantly in a smouldering stare as he got lost in the music. It wasn't a proper routine he was 'performing', way far off it, but he was throwing himself into his movements nonetheless. He didn't care that it was a girl he was grinding so sexually with, because at least it was someone.

Sweat was slicking at his skin and a smirk stayed present on his lips throughout. He could hear the catcalls and whistled as he dropped to the floor for a - really, it wasn't dignified at all as the name suggests - slut drop behind the girl who he still didn't know the name of. His obscene movements matched the filthy words in the song, revelling in the whole dirty feel he was expressing. His hands roamed the girl's body shamelessly as he sang the words loud, his body hitching with each beat of the bass.

 As the beat slowed, his movements kept their raunchy and loose feel but slowed with the music. Swiftly moving his hips and rolling his chest, he gradually lowered to the ground in a flexible show until he bounced back up as the beat sprung back into life. He felt totally in his element - everything was sultry and everything was sex and he loved it audaciously. He continued on dancing until the song finished, sending the girl a cheeky wink before jumping off the stage to join the other boys. They clapped him on the back with huge grins on their faces, complimenting him on his, although totally filthy, dancing.

There wasn't much need for the whole show, but Louis was drunk and he wanted to let loose. He also wanted to forget about the sixteen year old that was lingering in the back of his mind whilst he was with his friends, not wanting to slip up and show that he actually cared; so he turned back into the Louis who pranced around and flirted with everything and anything. That boy wasn’t with him at the present time, and he was going to take advantage of that, he thought drunkenly.

 

As his blurry eyes scanned the room aimlessly, he noticed Zayn open his mouth and lean closer so he could speak to Louis' clearer. Just as he was about to speak, Louis’ arm was pulled from its position crossed over his chest and he was yanked through the mass of people to the centre. He sent a speedy apologetic glance at Zayn but continued to stumble along with the person. That person turned out to be a boy, who wrapped his arms around Louis' waist and started dancing with Louis instantly.

He was good looking; there wasn't a doubt about that. He was blonde haired, blue eyed - a generally pretty face - but something wasn't right. Louis didn't get the best of looks to be honest because he was more embraced in the dancing, but from the lack of feeling in his stomach which he normally got when he saw someone he was attracted to, he knew that this lad wasn't 'suitable'. It was surprising really, because the boy's rugged but somehow smooth looks were usually Louis' preference, so it baffled him when he couldn't stir up that feeling in his body.

However, Louis kept dancing with the boy, grinding down on his crotch dirtily.

"I saw you dancing on that stage," the boy muttered in his ear hotly. Louis only made a noise of approval to show that he'd heard, throwing his head back onto the boy's shoulder as small kisses were pressed behind his ear. "You looked so _hot_."

As the boy - still with no name but Louis didn't really care at that moment in time - latched his mouth onto Louis' sweaty skin, Louis spotted through his fluttering eyelids Zayn approaching. Glaring through his eyes as if to try and deter Zayn from his charging pathway, Louis realised that Zayn obviously hadn't caught on. He battled through the crowd until he reached Louis and shoved Louis' phone obnoxiously in his face; the action not breaking the stranger's lips from Louis' neck though.

Louis squeaked out a questioning 'what?' through a moan as the boy's tongue swiped across the skin.

"It's been ringing constantly and it's fucking annoying," Zayn shouted over the music.

"Well turn it off then," Louis shouted back to him.

"Just answer it man, they keep calling so it's obviously important," Zayn said stubbornly.

Snatching it out of Zayn's hands, Louis growled a 'fine' before turning around to the boy who reluctantly removed his lips from the red skin.

"I have to answer this, come to the toilets with me?" Louis whispered into the boy's lips as he brushed them drunkenly again the boy's chapped ones. The boy nodded mutely and let Louis weave him through the crowd to the toilets.

The room was deserted, apart from one man who was just leaving. The noise of the bass was less powerful in the room, more of a light thud vibrating through the wall. Louis leaned on the wall as he tried to navigate through his phone with his blurry eyes which refused to focus on the bright screen properly. His fingers kept sliding off the keys as he tried to find the missed calls, and he groaned in frustration.

"Hey, baby, calm down," the boy said smoothly in Louis' ear as he walked up to him.

"I don't even know who it was who was calling," Louis slurred back. "How am I supposed to call them back when I don't even know who they are?"

"Well maybe you could wait until they call again."

"But then we'll be waiting, stuck in here while everything's happening out there," Louis pouted childishly.

"Well maybe we can have a little fun of our own while we wait..." the boy whispered seductively, suddenly pressing his lips against Louis'.

Louis kissed back, obviously, but that wasn't to say he enjoyed it. It was sloppy - but he admitted that was probably partly his fault because he was too drunk to care - and full of clashing teeth, and to be honest, it didn't feel right. He never objected to kissing anyone in previous situations like this, but at the present time, it wasn't _right_.

His phone then started vibrating in his hand, blasting out his ringtone to shock the pair apart. Louis' hesitantly pressed the green button and lifted the phone to his ear.

"Hello-" Louis started but a giggle fell from his lips as the boy's lips tickled his skin when they kissed at his collar. "Stop it, that tickles," he slurred to the boy, forgetting the phone was still closed at his ear.

"Louis? Is that you?" A womanly voice rang through the phone. Louis recognised it, but his slow mind wasn't cooperating and he couldn't work out who it was.

"That is me- wait, wait, I want to do that cool thing people do on movies, ready? It depends on who's asking," Louis said stupidly, winking even though the person couldn't see. The boy's mouth kissed up to Louis' lips.

"It's Anne, Anne Cox- where even are you Louis?"

Suddenly, as if the mention of her name sparked off a rally of emotions which sobered him up and set realisation throughout him about his life beyond the walls of this club, Louis froze into the kiss.

Louis tore his lips away from the dry ones of the boy. "A-Anne? Why are you calling?"

His voice was shaky and way less slurred. Thoughts ran through his mind rapidly, hurting his less active brain.

_Anne. Harry. Texting. Lying. Drunk. Ignoring. Dancing. Ignoring. Kissing. Ignoring._   __

"I needed to know you were alright," Anne replied simply. The boy kept trying to press his lips against Louis', ignoring the pensive and serious look on the Louis' features.

"O-of course I'm alright, w-why do you want to know?" Louis stammered confusedly.

"You never replied to Harry's texts and he's really anxious, Louis," Anne admitted.

Louis could feel the start of a weight drifting over his heart, not pulling him down just yet, but it was on the way to if it had any relation to the type of thoughts he was having after what Anne admitted. "What? Why? I just- I got busy I guess."

"Yes I can tell that," Anne mused vaguely.

"What's wrong, Anne? What's happened? Why's Harry so nervous?" Louis babbled. The boy kept nipping at his jaw.

"You're drunk, aren't you?" Anne asked straightforwardly.

"Wha- no! Well maybe a little, but tell me Anne, please!"

"I just hope you know what you've gotten yourself in for Louis-"

Louis interrupted Anne's cryptic message, "just tell me!" he exclaimed, pushing off the boy who was pulling at his shirt to get his attention. He shot the boy a stern glare to tell him to, basically, shut the fuck up.

"He gets worried about you, okay? When he starts to care for someone, he cares too much. He worries constantly about them and he needs to know they're okay; it's just what he does. So he texts them and texts them to keep up to date and know that nothing's happened to them. And when he doesn't get a reply, he starts getting tetchy. Then, if a reply doesn't come for a while after, he starts worrying properly. After that it's just a downhill spiral that can't be helped unless he knows they're okay. He's scared, Louis, he doesn't know what's going on."

That heavy feeling on his heart crashed down onto him, crushing his once joyful mood into smithereens. He felt guilty, stupid, unkind, and another dose of guilty on top of that. Yes, he wasn't to know that was what Harry was like, but he shouldn't have ignored him in the first place. "Fuck," he muttered to himself, not knowing what to say.

"I have to go and check up on him Louis, but just shoot him a text or something anyway? Maybe he'll be able to get to sleep after that; god knows what he'll be like in the morning for staying up this late," Anne muttered to herself a little as she contemplated what her son's mood would be like the next morning. "Just...just make sure you know what you're letting yourself in for Louis, he's different to everyone else. I don't want you leaving him when things get too tough. Think about it, Louis, make sure you're ready to come into his life; it's all or nothing, love, that's the choice you have to make."

And so Anne hung up, leaving Louis completely and utterly dumbfounded.


	9. Sunday 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shit shit shit shit shit  
> i just realised that i missed a whole chapter out omg  
> i'm so so so sorry  
> i totally didn't realise, i got the chapters completely mixed up  
> this is the only chapter i missed out but i'm so incredibly sorry, i'm so embarrassed

**Sunday 8**

It was the early hours of Sunday morning when Louis reached the front door; he guessed it was around 2 in the morning, but he couldn't be sure. There was still a little alcohol tainting his brain, but after the phone call from Anne he had most definitely sobered up. He pushed the no-named boy away from him after he'd processed all of his thoughts into correct categories, sorting out everything the conversation consisted of so he could decide how to act on it.

What he decided to do, was firstly, get the hell out of the club. That once euphoric atmosphere had disintegrated into a suffocating, cramped aura which pressured down on Louis' mind and soul, and he couldn't take the thumping bass rupturing his thoughts any longer. He sped off through the crowds, forgetting about his companions who were grinding in the crowd somewhere or sticking their tongues down some girl's throat.

The fresh air hit him like the phone call did: a full force which shot right through to his veins in a bid to evaporate any intoxication flowing freely. It smacked down on his skin, filtering through it to capture that buzzing, joyful feeling from the alcohol and trap it within a capsule of worry and guilt.

He wandered past the pulsing club, past the lines of kebab shops, past the off licence and over to the little patch of grass by the artificial hills. They tried to make it look more scenic, add a rural touch to the grotty area, but it didn't really work.

He sat himself down and wrapped his arms around his body, rubbing at his exposed arms to keep in the warmth which radiated off of his skin rapidly. Forgetting that it was potentially dangerous to do so because it was the middle of the night and pitch black other than the street light, Louis let his eyes flutter shut and he rested his forehead on his knees.

He just wanted someone to decide everything for him. He just wanted someone to slap some sense into him before he entered the club. He just wanted to pray to whichever god out there that he wouldn't have caused more harm than good. He thought it was fine. He thought it was alright when he said it, regardless of his heavy heart at the time; the alcohol made him think it was fine. But it wasn't, obviously, and now he regretted it more than anything.

Visions of a broken Harry cut through his heart with a sharp sting. They sliced it open and let all the love he held in his heart float away, because if he broke Harry, he didn't deserve to love anyone. He'd have broken an innocent being, a fragile object.

And then Louis got angry at himself. Before, he was just annoyed at himself, guilty. Now, however, he was raging inside. He wanted to kick himself, punch himself, scratch out those words that left his mouth so he could never say anything of the similar again. He let out a loud groan of frustration, his fingers clinging at the roots of his hair in pure fury. Why did he do it? What right did he have to say that?

Because he was scared. That was the reason. Because he was fucking _scared._

He was a coward.

The confession to himself didn't seem to relieve of the tight hold guilt had on his heart, but it soothed his mind with a light brush of its caring admittance. He knew where he'd gone wrong. It wasn't like he was oblivious; he wasn't stupid. And the confession made him feel at least a little better because he wasn't denying the fact he'd done anything wrong and he was being truthful to himself, not like he had been before when he spoke those heinous words.

Once Louis had basked in the cool air for long enough to decipher his thoughts to an appropriate standard to decide on what to do next, he rose from his spot. Creaking his bones as he stretched to try and rid him of the final alcoholic influence on his body, Louis stumbled over to the road and hailed an oncoming cab. Telling the taxi driver his destination, Louis slouched in the back seat and leant his forehead against the cool glass. The bumping of his head off the window each time the car went over a pot hole didn't do the lingering dull ache of a headache any good, but he couldn't be bothered to move. He watched the flashing lights whizz by him, blinding him momentarily before zooming by.

Finally, the car pulled up to the familiar house. Louis suddenly felt reluctant to leave the safety of the vehicle, wanting to curl up on the uncomfortable seating and tie himself to the handle so he couldn't move away. He knew he was doing it again; he knew he was being cowardice, but it was scary. He couldn't have just sent a text, he knew that. That would be too dismissive and not personal enough and he felt like he had to apologise for everything he'd said, even though Harry was totally oblivious.

Hesitantly, after paying the driver, Louis clambered out of the car and let his feet lead him to the front door.

Should he ring the doorbell or knock? He didn't know whether Anne had maybe gotten Harry to sleep - God, Louis hated saying that, it made Harry sound like a child - or not. The doorbell might wake him up again and Louis couldn't be responsible for even more anguish. He chose the latter, deciding it was the safest option in case Harry had fallen asleep. He could see a dim light through the curtains but that didn't infer that somebody was still awake. He hoped they were already awake; he didn't want to wake anyone up and cause more bother for the family.

Cautiously, he knocked three times on the door and stood awkwardly on the ground, eyes focussed on his mucky Toms. He heard bustle behind the door a minute or so later, and as he looked up he saw the light in the hallway flicker on and shine through the frosted glass.

As the door creaked open warily, Louis felt a shiver of nervousness cling to his skin with the sense of the unexpected. He didn't know what would happen beyond that threshold - if he was even let in - because really, Anne could tell him that he'd royally fucked up and she didn't want him anywhere near her son, and she had every right to do that.

Anne's figure crept into view as the door opened a little at a time. Her face looked worn, tired and drained. Her body was wrapped in a dressing gown; she had slippers on her feet and she looked like she was ready for bed, but her eyes said otherwise.

"Louis," she breathed out. In relief? Louis wasn't sure.

"Hi Anne," Louis said awkwardly.

"What are you doing here?" she said through a yawn covered by her hand.

"I- just...I couldn't just _text_ him, I had to see him," Louis confessed after a stammer.

Anne looked slightly shocked at Louis' sincerity and thought. She took a few seconds to question his words in her mind before letting him in the household when she knew he wasn't just saying it for the sake of things; he meant it.

Louis shut the door as he entered the warmth and turned to Anne who had sat down on the stairs. Louis stood awkwardly by the door, not wanting to make an even bigger fool of himself by doing something prohibited.

"C'mere, Louis," Anne said tiredly. She gestured for him to come over and patted the space beside her. Louis shuffled over and squeezed in beside her, his eyes looking over to her in expectance and his hands wringing unsettled in his lap.

"Is he asleep?" Louis asked quietly.

With a sorrowful shake of her head, Anne answered, "No, he refuses to. But to be honest, I don't think he _could_ even if he wanted to."

Louis sat silent letting the words linger in the air. His guilt was still heavy in the pit of his stomach and wrapped around his heart.

"I'm sorry," he whispered in an attempt to keep the same quiet atmosphere around them. Regardless of the fact it was a little uncomfortable, at least he wasn't being shouted at from all angles. It was somewhat comforting actually. Anne's warmth was still there. She still had that whole force field of wholesome family goodness around her, that kindness bubble that Louis didn't think could ever be hindered, but for some reason he thought he might've put a dent in it and he'd have been in the line of that crack.

"It's not me you need to apologise to," she replied as softly. "Although I don't think that's what Harry wants to hear; he just needs to know you're okay. Anything other than that is an added bonus, I guess."

"Can I maybe go see him? Only if you think that's alright though; I'll totally respect your decision if you don't wa-"

"Go, Louis, it's fine. He's in the living room, first door on your left," she smiled weakly but with warmth behind. "Just...just be careful with him, yeh?"

"Always."

Louis’ tentative footsteps were muted by the carpet as he made his way to the closed door. With an apprehensive knock, he opened the door and peeked his head around.

Louis heart felt like it froze when he saw Harry.

He was sitting on the arm chair, his body curled around itself, his arms wound around his knees with his fingers tapping restlessly on his thigh, and his face buried from nose down in his knees.

The worst part, for Louis, was his eyes. They stared in front of him, directed at the fireplace which was lit with an orange glow. Louis could tell Harry wasn't in a trance by the dancing, flickering flames; his eyes were blank. They matched his old expression of nothing but vacancy. He looked tired: tired of everything. He hadn't looked up when the knock sounded or the door was opened because, Louis suspected, he thought it would be Anne; after all, who else would it be?

And somehow, seeing Harry so withdrawn, it made everything so much harder. Any slight determination had been washed away by a wave of sympathy, pity and guilt.

He stepped into the room, closing the door quietly behind him with a _'click'._ Harry didn't budge; his eyes didn't flicker except for the slow blinking of his eyelids. Louis couldn't help but notice how murky a green the colour was; he was sure they were never that dull before.

The older boy took a few steps into the room, his feet padding silently on the carpet.

"Harry," Louis' voice wasn't meant to be so quiet; it wasn't meant to crack when it came out a whisper, but somehow it sounded so broken without even trying.

Harry's eyes finally whipped up from their stare. The dull green blankness started dissipating before Louis' eyes as Harry took in Louis' figure, looking him up and down with that heavy blink from the past.

Suddenly, Harry's body leapt from the chair and bounded towards Louis, ending with a collapsing hold around Louis' body. Harry held onto Louis tightly, and at first he didn't know what to do. Opting to hug back and appreciate such an offertory of emotion, Louis wound his arms around Harry's back and clung onto him for dear life. He could feel the heavy breathing from Harry's mouth on his neck, it was so loud and laborious he could hear the relieved panting in the silent room clearly.

Louis nuzzled his nose into Harry's shoulder and closed his eyes tight shut. His breathing wasn't any more steady than Harry's. It was like there was a weight on his chest which prevented any even breathing. He, instead of attempting to regain breathing composure, breathed in through his nose, taking in the scent of Harry, which he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to smell again.

"M'sorry," Louis muttered into Harry's shoulder. He wasn't even sure if his words were coherent enough to be understood, but he said them anyway in the heat of the moment when all he wanted to do was say sorry a hundred times over.

Harry shook his head in Louis' neck to indicate that he'd heard Louis, and that he didn't agree with the comment. It was more a dismissive shake of the head, a one you'd do when things that weren't needing to be said were being said.

"M'so so sorry," Louis repeated into the material of Harry's shirt. Harry shook his head more determinedly this time, as if Louis' words were utter nonsense.

Louis reluctantly pulled his face from Harry's shoulder, in turn making Harry's head move from nestling in Louis' warm skin. Harry's face was directly in front of his, but the boy still never met his eyes. Louis still stared deep into his though, regardless of the lack of eye contact. "No, Harry, you need to know how sorry I am for this, for everything."

Those brightened orbs flickered up to Louis' blue eyes from the cotton rim of Louis' collar for a second before they returned to their rightful place. Louis wasn't sure what the look meant, but as Harry slowly pulled his arms from Louis' body and retreated over to the sofa opposite the fireplace, Louis understood that Harry was going to listen, whatever he thought about Louis' apology being put aside.

Louis sunk down into the sofa alongside the younger boy who was scrunched up at the opposite end to Louis. He took time to notice Harry's attire as he settled into the cushions. His outfit was utterly adorable, Louis thought. It brought out all of Harry's innocence; it defined him in one whole outfit. He was donned in a classic pair of dark blue and green plaid pyjamas, the shirt and trousers brushed cotton and the shirt being long sleeved with only a small triangle of Harry's pale chest showing. He looked so endearingly cute that Louis thought his heart was going to burst out of his chest.

Before Louis had the chance to speak, Harry had turned around and his bum was raised in the air as he bustled around on the floor with his hands. Louis couldn't help but look; I mean, it would be unnatural not to, right? Those peachy cheeks were right in Louis' face; could he really deny them a look at the squeezable roundness? Louis thought not, or at least he convinced himself not.

Harry, sadly for Louis –but really, Louis liked his face too, so the lack of bum on show wasn't too painful–, returned back to his upright position with a pad of paper and pen in hand. After scribbling down on it, Harry showed the pad to Louis:

_You don't need to apologise, Lou_

Louis sighed; of course Harry was going to be like this. He didn't seem to think there was any bad in the way Louis had acted.

"Do you want me to write or talk?"

 _I don't mind, you can speak if you like._ Harry wrote back.

"I just- you don't understand, Haz. I need to apologise. I need to tell you over and over again that I'm sorry, because I've been so horrible and awful and it's unforgivable but I need to at least try and get you to forgive me because I just can't lose you and I- I'm babbling, aren't I?" Louis' speech was rushed and hasty, but when he saw Harry sitting there with the smallest tug at his lips, he noticed this rapid babbling and pulled himself to a stop.

_It's fine Louis, I was just worried about you when you didn't reply - that's all. It's not like you've killed someone or something_

"That's the point, you were worried. You shouldn't have even been worried because of me. I don't care if that's just how you are, I shouldn't have put you in that position anyway," Louis confessed lowly.

_It's fine Louis, you're here now and that's all that matters. You're okay; you're fine._

Louis let out a strangled noise. Harry didn't understand. No, Louis didn't plan on informing him of the awful words he said at the club, but he wanted to apologise indirectly. Maybe it was just to soothe the guilt threaded through his heart, maybe it was just to stop this heavy feeling on his chest, but he needed Harry to understand that he was sorry.

When Louis looked up from his lap where he'd been wringing his fingers together, Harry had his notepad up again with another line of scrawl underneath. His expression was hesitant and his lip was caught in between his teeth like he was deciding whether to ask or not.

_Do you mind me asking why you didn't reply?_

Louis gulped thickly. What was he supposed to say? That he was ignoring the boy? That he stopped replying because he didn't want to look odd in front of his friends? That he was being, basically, a right dick?

"I- I got caught up with everything I guess and it just slipped my mind," the lie felt sticky on his tongue, bitter and sour and somewhat clingy in his mouth. When Harry nodded solemnly, like he understood, Louis felt the taste thicken on his lips and he suddenly felt the need to wash his mouth out. Lying was easy: Louis proved that in the club when he spouted those words about Harry. But lying to Harry was a whole different thing. The pure innocence on his face made it so much harder to lie to because really, this is _Harry_ we're talking about.

As Louis looked over at Harry, he saw the boy yawn tiredly, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand and blinking his eyes tightly.

"You tired?" Louis asked softly, reaching his hand out to pat Harry's knee. The other boy flinched slightly before seemingly deeming it okay to let the touch settle on his cotton clad skin. He nodded a little, like he didn't even have the energy to move his head properly.

"Go on up to bed, get some sleep," Louis said to the exhausted boy. Harry nodded once more, standing up from the sofa. He stretched out his arms and arched his back as he did so. Although Louis felt a little odd ogling the boy's lean figure when he was wearing such innocent bed wear, couldn't help but notice again how long Harry's torso was. It was a surprise that the shirt wasn't too short for him seeing as his pants seemed to be hung low, and Louis kind of wished it was too short and he'd see a slice of that pale skin.

Harry started walking to the door but stopped before he left and turned to Louis, looking at him was a tentative expression.

Louis actually thought his heart might've just burst after Harry did his next action.

His right hand was curled in a fist and rubbing at his eye, and his other was outstretched in front of him, his fingers grasping at the air like he was trying to grab Louis.

Louis thought he was going to cry or something totally over emotional. He didn't think he'd ever seen anything so cute in his life because, fuck, nothing could live up to how adorable the boy looked at that time. His plaid pyjamas and actions which were like something a toddler would do for their mother's attention to beckon them towards them, were the epitome of adorable.

"Y-you want me to come?" Louis asked stutteringly.

Harry nodded almost brightly (yet obviously not because he was knackered to his wits end but the ambition in his nod was present) and once he removed his hand from his eye, he blinked over in Louis' direction widely.

"O-okay," Louis tried to register it in his mind. Yes, he was aware that nothing was going to happen, but bedrooms were private and personal and Louis thought that because he was being let into Harry's then, wow, the boy must feel truly comfortable with him. Louis felt a surge of somewhat pride but genuine happiness as he stood up from the sofa and staggered over to the boy.

Harry led Louis through the hallway, squeezing past his Mum who was still sat on the stairs. When she saw Harry's calmed being and the lack of worry on Louis' face, she visibly brightened up with a wide smile, although it was tainted with tiredness.

Louis stopped uneasily as he approached Anne. Her grin had turned somewhat curious as Harry stopped and waited for Louis half way up the stairs. "Erm Harry asked if I could go up to his...bedroom with him," Louis scratched the back of his neck awkwardly as he spoke. "Is that alright?"

Louis heard Harry's overdramatic huff but ignored it nonetheless, focussing on Anne whose eyes widened a little in surprise.

"He did?"

"Yeh...I mean I get it if you don't want me to, but I'm not going to like _do_ anything to hi- _with_ him."

"No it's totally fine, just a shock, y'know?" Anne said with a disbelieving smile.

"Yeh, yeh. I know..." Louis muttered.

From the stairs, Louis heard a noise which sounded like a strangled whine. He looked up to Harry standing there, top teeth pulling in his bottom lip a little and a furrow in the middle of his eyebrows. There was no doubt that Harry made the high pitched whinge, and he was obviously wanting Louis to hurry up.

"I'm coming, I'm coming. God, demanding much," Louis chuckled under his breath. As he sidled past Anne, she quickly jumped up and whispered in his ear: "Once he's asleep, come to the kitchen and talk to me, yeh?"

Louis nodded obediently and then followed the lagging Harry up the stairs and to his room. Harry's room was typical teenage boy's room, except for the lack of posters of half-naked women spreading over the walls and the lack of mess scattered over the floor - so really, it wasn't that typical. It was plain though, nothing extravagant. His single bed was tucked up in the corner by the window, and Harry traipsed over to it immediately. He flopped down on it, making Louis chuckle as he lay lifeless face down on the bed.

"C'mon, babe, let's get you in properly," Louis mothered. He walked over to the bed and rolled Harry over so he could flip some of the duvet up. Harry was acting like a dead weight as Louis tried to shuffle him under the covers. Finally, Louis got Harry settled in the bed. The covers were tucked up to his chin, the tips of his fingers poking over the top as he held the covers to keep the warmth in, and his eyes were closed ready for dreamland.

Louis turned around to creep back out, but a hand slapped at his leg. He turned around to Harry whose green eyes were on show once again, looking up at him with a pleading expression.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Louis asked softly, squatting down beside the side of Harry's bed.

Harry harrumphed, pulling one of his arms from the cocoon of warmth and patting the side of the bed. His eyes were wide and full of ivy green, splashed with beseeching need.

"You want me to stay?" Louis asked, his voice high and questioning.

Harry nodded certainly in response.

"Okay," Louis whispered, before settling his bottom on the ground and placing his hands on the mattress. Harry sighed contently before shutting his eyes once more. Louis sat patiently and silently as Harry drifted off to sleep, his breathing deepening to a sleep-like level. He sat stroking Harry's thumb which had somehow linked with his as he thought over everything that had happened.

When he was sure that Harry was asleep, he quietly shuffled up onto his feet. He bent over the bed, his hand caressing Harry's curls - which were incredibly soft by the way, if you were wondering. It was like they were strips of silk - and he lowered his head so he was close to Harry's peaceful expression.

"I'm sorry, Haz. I didn't mean it, I swear; I was just caught up and being stupid. Please forgive me," Louis whispered his confession to the sleeping boy. Before he left, he wondered whether it would be wrong to press a kiss onto the boy's head. Harry would never know, and Louis couldn't resist putting his lips to the mass of curls affectionately. "M'sorry," he mumbled as he pressed a small peck on the brown head of hair before turning out the room and making his way to the kitchen.

 

Anne placed the cup of tea in Louis' hands and collapsed down into the chair with a sigh. Louis let the warm tea wash down his throat as he sipped at it, an instant calm surging through his pores. There were a few minutes of silence as the two drank their warm drinks, a comfortable silence.

"So," Anne somewhat stated.

The speech seemed to set Louis off into some kind of babbling mess as he released all his thoughts in a flurry of haste: "I can't say how sorry I am, Anne. For everything. For the trouble with Harry first and foremost; how I've made him worry. Which, in turn, has made him stay up all night, and he'll be so tired in the morning. And you will too, because you've had to be there to comfort him all because of me, when I should've been there instead. And-"

"Louis," Anne interrupted. "Stop. Stop apologizing: it's fine."

"I know but-"

"But nothing. You didn't know Harry was like that; you were unaware of how he acted, so you acted normally. You have your own life, Louis; being friends with Harry doesn't stop that life."

"But Harry is part of my life now..."

"No, Louis, your other life. The life you had before Harry. You have to go live it; you have other friends than just him."

"I know but look where that ended us this time. I'm not going to stop talking to them or stop seeing them, because they're my best friends and I love them to pieces, but look at him now, Anne; look at what I've done."

"You haven't done anything wrong. Y'know, Harry wouldn't despise you for having other people you care about; he knows you have a life beyond him. He just wanted to know you were okay. Next time, just make sure you reply to him, even if it's short. Or tell him what you're doing, tell him you're busy and that you'll speak to him whenever you can; just don't leave him hanging or waiting on a text that'll never come," Anne stated.

Her words made Louis feel mainly relieved. He didn't have any lingering guilt on his shoulders anymore, and he felt better overall that he could live his life with his friends, regardless of Harry's anxiety problems. A simple text would be all it took, and Louis was sure he could do that, maybe even more.

"I'll make sure I do that, Anne, I'm not going to make the same mistake again," Louis began. "I just- I was wondering….has Harry always been like that? Like has he always gotten so worried over people?"

"The majority of the time, yes. It's more people around his age though; like he used to get so worried about Gemma. I mean, he hasn't had the chance to be worried, really, with his lack of friends, but on the odd occasion his cousins visited for the weekend and he got used to their presence, when they left Harry found it hard to deal with the sudden change. I think he feels that because they're around his age, that they would want to feel the care from someone like he wants. And the only way he can channel that care is by freaking out."

"Do _you_ find it hard to cope with?"

"It depends on the severity of it really. It's frustrating when I can't _do_ anything about it, when it's all up to the other person who is normally oblivious to it, and all I want to do is help him. He acts so childlike when he goes through it all. It's like his mind has been set back ten years; something must just click in his brain and he copes as a child would. I mean, I guess it lets me take proper care of him, like hug him and comfort him properly, unlike normal, but then it's also so much harder because he just doesn't _listen_ when I try to talk to him"

"Kind of bittersweet, right?" Louis inputted.

"Exactly. And it's hard too, when he comes out of that mode, because he doesn't really understand that he's been so compliant with everyone and it's hard for me to just slip back into reality. He knows what he's said though; he knows what he's thought. He gets moody, so if you stay over tonight - are you staying? - then you'll experience that, just a pre-warning. It's not too bad, but it's just a little like stepping on eggshells until he's fine again."

Was Louis staying? He didn't know. He didn't want to overstep the boundaries. Like Anne said, Harry wasn't really in his full mind when he got so anxious, so maybe he didn't want to forgive Louis. But if that was the case, then surely Louis had to either talk it out with Harry and make sure neither of them were left not knowing where they stood, or try his best to get him to forgive him. But like Anne said, it wasn't like he didn't know his thoughts at all. His thoughts were left that he wanted to stay, but he knew it'd be rude to impose after all that he'd done.

"Am I allowed to?"

"Of course, Louis. You're welcomed here anytime now, okay? I know what Uni is like and the struggle for money and lack of food in the fridge, so if you need anything just com-"

Suddenly, a loud banging was heard from upstairs followed by heavy footsteps around the second level of the house. Anne and Louis both shot each other curious and confused looks. The pounding became louder as it descended down the stairs and soon enough, the kitchen door slammed open.

Harry came stumbling in, his body ricocheting off the door and further into the kitchen. His eyes were wide and his hair was all over the place. One of his hands was clutching at the roots of his curls in anguish. He was panting heavily, somewhat distressed, as his eyes shot around the room until they landed on Louis.

Once he spotted the older boy, it seemed like all his distress ran out of him. He staggered over to Louis and collapsed onto him in relief. Louis' eyes were wide as Harry gripped onto him so tightly it was like he didn't want to let him go. His fingers dug into Louis' shoulders, trenching the thin cotton of his t-shirt. His cheek was leaning against Louis' and he was breathing deeply. _Fuck, his skin was so smooth, how is that even possible_ and _Jesus, he's breathing on my fucking neck, shit, I'm going to- yep, there's the goosebumps_ was all Louis could think as the boy stayed there until his body had slackened and relaxed a little.

"You alright, babe?" Louis said softly, bringing his hand up into Harry's head to try and calm him a little with the soft strokes.

Harry nodded weakly as he pulled his head to be in line with Louis. His eyes flickered over to the back door which led out into the garden, and he released his clutch on Louis' shoulder to gesture over to it. He had a pout on his face - an adorable one it was - as if he was trying to convey the worry he felt.

"Door?" Louis asked confusedly.

Harry nodded, tilting his head to the side and gesturing something along the lines of leaving from it.

"Oh, you thought I'd left?" Louis said once he'd realised Harry's motives for such a panicked reaction. Harry nodded in agreement.

"Did you- did you not want me to leave?"

Harry shook his head determinedly, as if it were the most obvious thing, yet at the same time, it was something he had to explain to Louis through his actions.

"You want me to stay?" Louis' voice was high in question. He was somewhat surprised at how Harry was acting, how he desperately wanted him to stay. Harry nodded with the same determination, with a closed-lipped smile on his face, utter contentment.

"Okay," Louis whispered so quietly it was almost silent, just his lips mouthing the words.

Harry shuffled off of Louis' lap and stood beside him, holding his hand out expectantly. Louis breathed out a chuckle as he grasped at the long fingered hand to heave himself up. The feel of Harry's hand was soft and smooth. It swamped Louis' nimble fingers, regardless of his younger age. It swallowed it up, but it felt so right. Louis liked the warmth it brought; it was nice.

The panic seemed to have worn off and been replaced by exhaustion, and Harry's feet trudged along the floor as he pulled Louis upstairs.  Louis heard Anne coo as she cradled her tea, and as Louis turned back to stick his tongue out at her playfully, he saw her face full of love and brightness. It made Louis' heart surge with bliss when he saw her expression, her acceptance for her son and his friendship.

Louis let Harry pull him up the stairs and into the darkened bedroom. Harry immediately climbed into the bed and snuggled himself into the covers, embracing the warmth once again. His closed eyes fluttered open when Louis didn't move from standing beside his bed. His eyebrow was furrowed and his lips were tightly pressed together as if he were deep in thought.

His arm reached out and he pulled Louis' wrist towards him. It made Louis stumble, almost sprawling over the bed and Harry. Before he could question Harry's actions, Harry was patting the mattress where there was space behind his back.

Louis looked at him warily, "You want me to...get in? With you?"

Harry nodded with enthusiasm, well, as much enthusiasm as someone about to fall asleep can have.

"You sure? I don't think that's a good idea, Harry..." As much as he wanted to, he didn't want to take advantage of the boy's childlike state. Nothing was going to happen, obviously, but it was still intimate.

Harry's eyes pleaded with him, and Louis tried his hardest to resist them but they were so endearing that he couldn't stop his hands pulling off his shoes and - before checking with Harry that it was alright - pulling off his skinny jeans and clambering over the weary boy. He slipped under the soft duvet and settled himself down. He didn't want to get too close to Harry, or else there was a chance the boy would freak out too much. This was already a big step.

That decision, however, was made for him as Harry grabbed Louis' arms and pulled them around him. At first, Louis felt his body stiffen awkwardly, shocked at the forwardness, but he soon relaxed into Harry's body and hugged him warmly. Harry snuggled back into Louis' body and sighed joyfully, and then fell into a peaceful sleep almost immediately.

Louis looked at Harry's calm expression, drinking in his perfect features and feeling the heavy weight against his chest like it was always meant to be there.

Louis knew that feeling.

That fluttering in his stomach, that pulse raising heat that spread over his skin.

That pounding in his heart each time he thought of the boy, that irrepressible, euphoric wash of emotions that surged through his veins each time he looked at him.

Louis liked Harry.

More than a friend should.

But surprisingly, he didn't mind that.

He liked it.

And so he went to sleep with an unusual calm, embracing the younger boy in his arms.


	10. Saturday 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE MAKE SURE THAT YOU HAVE READ SATURDAY 8 I FORGOT TO POST IT LAST TIME AND POSTED THIS ONE INSTEAD I'M SO SORRY

**Saturday 9**

_No, Louis, I'm not doing it. You can't persuade me, whatever you do, okay?_

         

It was the Saturday later when Louis had the troublesome task on his hands of trying to persuade Harry to do something he –even though Louis protested that inside he wanted to do it desperately– was claiming he didn't want to do. They were back in the comfort of the piano room, as per usual, and after performing their routine clinking of the piano keys together, Louis had set upon that tricky task.

It was a particularly joyous, happy tune this week. Nothing at all including heavy clunking of the keys or the lower notes of the piano; they were all high pitched, staccato notes. The quickness of the speed made their hands tangle together in a messy sprawl of fingers. Although the tune was messed up and turned into a high pitched squeal of madness, the two boys just giggled it out. They weren't embarrassed by their mistake; they weren't annoyed; they were amused.

For Louis, he was particularly proud when their fingers mangled together. He was actually overjoyed. Of course the noise wasn't _pleasant,_ but Harry's reaction was the seed of the pride. Harry didn't freak; he didn't scare. He didn't zone out into the world of misery and taunt. He did the exact opposite. When Harry froze as they made such a noise, Louis suspected that the cheerful mood that the joyful tune brought would dissipate as fast as Harry's good mood would.

Last time, Louis didn't know the boy. He didn't know his problem; he didn't know the hurt inside that was so thickly covered up. He didn't like him, nor did he have an unusually large crush –that sounded so childish, Louis thought, it was more than a childhood fancy on the school's most popular kid– on the boy.

So, really, what was Louis to expect? When the same happened last time, Harry clammed up, and Louis was worried the same would happen. This was for two reasons. Reason one: he had no clue what to do. He proved his inexperience in dealing with Harry's 'problems' when he took him to the gig all those weeks ago. Yes this would have been of a lesser accord, not as serious, but it was important nonetheless. If Harry's mood had decreased dramatically, then Louis had this need to make it all better. And he didn't know how to do that when the boy was so freaked out. Reason two: if Harry did freak out, then maybe Louis hadn't made as much of an impact on the boy's life as he thought. If he freaked out whilst in the presence of Louis, then surely he wouldn't be as bad as he was at the gig? But if he was as bad, or even worse, then Louis' mind would have ran into overdrive, thinking of all the things he could've done better to make the boy trust him more for times like this.

All this thinking, however, was irrelevant.

Harry giggled. _Fucking giggled._ That in turn made Louis giggle too, but that's beside the point. He giggled. How adorable is that? It was a little bubble of bliss popping out his mouth. Did Harry really want to make Louis die, every time they saw each other, of his cuteness? Louis thought he did; he must've been doing it on purpose.

It had the same effect on Louis as that booming laugh on the top of the hill many weeks ago did. It made his heart swell and he grinned through his returning giggle so much it hurt his cheeks. It was almost flattering that Harry had the confidence to smile and laugh. With _him._

So they giggled and smiled, chuckled and blushed, grinned and bloomed. It was just... _lovely,_ a lovely few hours.

 

Backtracking to the Sunday morning after 'the club incident', it was a wary time for Louis. He wasn't sure whether Harry would be awkward or annoyed at him and completely diminish his forgiving streak for the older boy. He woke up, Harry wrapped in his arms sleeping peacefully. At first, it was a bit of a shock. The blue paint of the walls was a shock to his system firstly. When his eyelids creaked open, covered in that film of sleep, the blue blur confused his mind. His walls weren't blue; in fact, they were a bright shade of white, and he'd only repainted them a month or so prior so they couldn't have discoloured that quickly. The light blue shade reminded him of his old bedroom in Doncaster, washing a wave of reminiscing memories over his mind. He remembered waking up time and time again, staring at that blue wall in front of him and almost praying to it that it'd close in on him and he wouldn't have to get up for school. But then he tended to get a text from Zayn with either some confession about the party last night or a rudely pleasant wake up call.

When he realised he wasn't in his room, the next thing he noticed with the heavy weight he was holding onto. It wasn't bone crushing; it was rather light actually. It wasn't as light as a pillow though, which was something he tended to do when he got lonely. He, subconsciously somehow, sometimes manoeuvred the pillow in between his body and snuggled into it as if it were a person. It was always particularly embarrassing when he woke up in that position along with a wet stain seeping into the material. And no, it wasn't piss.

His eyes floated down in curiosity to the lingering weight. He spotted the brown curls that were splayed over the pillow, and just like that, everything came rushing back.

It took him a few minutes to gather his thoughts, but soon enough he relaxed back into the bed, back into Harry. He remembered how he'd nervously approached the house, the acceptance from Anne, the huge heart-swelling hug from Harry when he greeted him, the tucking the boy in, the chat with Anne, the distressed boy pulling him upstairs, to the final moments of falling into sleep with the boy in his arms.

Harry had somehow turned around during the night and his head was snuggled into Louis' neck. His soft breaths were hitting off the skin, goosebumps rising around the area that it victimised. His lips were parted a little, his mouth being a bit ajar. There was a quiet purr sounding through the silent air from Harry's lips, just loud enough to be heard.

Louis wondered if he was being creepy, as he stared at the boy who was fast asleep, but he couldn't help looking at how peaceful he looked.

He didn't seem as young as he did in the early hours of the morning. He looked older, more mature. It wasn't like he'd suddenly turned wrinkly with a beard, but he just didn't look so childlike. It was as if the switch in his mind that turned him so childlike during panic had been flicked off, and he'd returned back to his more mature self. His features were light and carefree, but his jaw looked so prominent and chiselled, and his lips looked so pink and raw, and his skin wasn't perfect and still had some blemishes.

He looked _gorgeous._

Louis almost felt like something had happened the night before, something far from innocent. It hadn't, obviously, but the way he was looking down at the boy and feeling so much admiration for him, he was surprised when his thoughts returned back to normal that he hadn't just had sex with his boyfriend - after all, it was a tendency of his to do such thinking after said activities.

The calm serenity was broken, however, when a - Louis didn't know how to describe it, really, it was an odd noise - snort of some sort, mixed with a grumble and a groan sounded from Harry's sleeping form. Well, not sleeping as of then, because his eyes were fluttering open. During this sleeping noise, Harry had managed to flip himself over so he was lying on his front, his face pressed into Louis' shoulder. His nose and lips were squished against the flesh, only the sides of his face visible. Harry's nose was a little chilly on Louis' warm skin; it felt rather nice, very real.

Little flashes of green flickered through the milky skin of Harry's eyelids, opening for less than a second and closing for random lengths of time until they opened and closed regularly every few seconds in a blink.

Louis could only see one of his eyes as Harry's face was squashed against his flesh, but he saw the way they slowly registered his surroundings. They froze in shock and stared at the tanned skin when they realised that the skin of his face wasn't resting on a cushiony pillow, it was actually flesh. He could feel the lack of breath hitting off his arm when Harry froze too; it was like his whole body couldn't stop the reaction to the new 'pillow' he had. He obviously registered the hold that was around him, and he tensed to a stiffness.

Slowly, his body rolled over and his eyes peeped under hooded lids to see Louis. Louis tried to grace his lips with a reassuring smile, hoping it didn't come out creepy. It seemed to work, as Harry seemed to sigh in relief - or at least Louis hoped it was relief, it was too genuine not to be - and give a tiny nod of a greeting, offering a little tug at the lips before turning his face back into the pillow again.

Louis frowned down at him, confused by his dismissive actions. He expected at least _some_ kind of reaction: an angry expression, a hurt expression, maybe if he was really lucky an overjoyed expression - although he knew that was unlikely.

"You alright, Haz?" Louis didn't realise how croaky his morning voice was until he spoke just then. Well, croaky sounds too frog-like; it was just really rough and so different to his soft, high tone he usual composed himself with. It cracked on the first word, evidence that he hadn't used his vocal chords in hours and that they had been coated in sleep. He coughed to rid him of said thickness, and repeated his question with more clarity.

Harry just harrumphed heavily into the pillow.

 _Well,_ Louis thought, _that was insightful._

Silence dragged on for a few minutes as Louis thought of what to say. Harry's deep breathing fanned through the air as he stuffed his face into the pillow and his breathing became laboured.

Although he wasn't getting much of a reaction, Louis appreciated the little bit of recognition he got before; he could've been completely ignored by the lad. At least Harry wasn't mad at him. He didn't seem to think that Louis had taken advantage of him. And the stiffness in his body was only because it was a shock to feel arms around him; it didn't continue when he noticed that it was Louis. He was going to be moody, Louis knew that, and tiredness seemed to come as a package deal with that. I mean, he even smiled a little, what more could Louis want?

The pull of hunger in Louis' stomach sparked a conversational idea off. "Are you hungry yet? D'you want some breakfast?" his hand rose up to cup the back of Harry's head, stroking it gently. His thumb moved slightly from side to side, rubbing the hair that masked just behind Harry's ear. He felt Harry's head push back a little into the touch as if to say he was enjoying the comforting stroke.

Harry shook his head languidly and made a similar noise as before. He turned his face back to the side, facing Louis, and had his eyes closed for sleep.

"Do you mind if I go get something to eat? You look like you just want to sleep so it'll be easier if I'm not in the bed with you..."

Harry seemed to have lost that clingy mood he was in the night previous and he just 'pffted' with an unconcerned scrunch of his nose. His face snuggled back into the pillow and he sighed out deeply, set to return to sleep.

Louis nodded to nobody in particular, and muttered a 'right' as he decided what to do. He set upon clambering over Harry, trying not to wrestle him too much. When he pulled his arm from underneath the boy, he felt a surge of pins and needles when the blood rushed back into it; he hadn't even noticed the numbness Harry's weight left. His body slipped from under the covers and his nimble feet carefully took him over Harry's body and onto the carpeted floor with little trouble.

With one spared look over his shoulder as he creaked the door open and slipped out almost silently, bar the click of the door, Louis slowly made his way down to the kitchen in search of some food, feeling somewhat pleased with Harry's reaction. Louis thought of it as a success.

 

And then Louis found the leaflet, pamphlet, advertisement: whatever you want to call it. It was bright, garishly bright, and it used many a range of Word Art's finest; so overall, it wasn't the most attractive. But it caught Louis' eye, and that was the main point.

Fair enough, Harry didn't directly give it to him; he didn't offer it to him on a golden platter. But it was so obviously sticking out of Harry's back pocket that Louis couldn't resist but snatch it from its confines. Before Harry had been able to react, Louis jumped from the stool and ran to the corner of the room. He held the leaflet right in front of his face, as if it were going to help him read it quicker and easier. His eyes scanned the page quickly as he saw Harry's figure stumble over to him, filtering the information as fast as he could.

Sooner than anticipated, a hand slashed down on the paper and ripped it from Louis' hands. Harry hid it behind his back secretively, his face pouting in frustration.

"Aw, babe, don't be like that," Louis whined, placing a pout on his lips to match Harry's. The younger boy's pout cracked a little as Louis imitated him, a restraining chuckle caught behind his twitching lips.

He wound his arms around Harry's waist with a mischievous glint in his eye. His hands flapped around in search of the hands that clutched the leaflet. His arms kept flailing by Harry's waist, twisting the younger boy to the side so he was almost bending over. A laugh bubbled from Harry's lips as Louis continued to wrestle with him, all for that little piece of paper. Louis' fingers finally graced the flimsy material and latched onto it for dear life. It was, however, denied from him as Harry refused to let the older boy take it.

"Why don't you want me to see it?" Louis asked softly, detonating the playful mood into a certain calmness.  Harry straightened his posture with a sigh, and shook his head almost remorsefully.

"It's only about the school talent show though, isn't it? How they need a replacement for an act who dropped out?" Harry nodded and shrugged, trying to act nonchalant and brush off the conversation.

"So why don't you want me to see it?" Louis enquired quietly. Harry sighed heavily and pulled away from Louis, slumping down on the stool and grasping the sheet of music from the stand. He nabbed a pen and scribbled on the back of it:

_Because you'll try persuade me to do it_

Louis quickly snatched a pen from the lid of the piano and directed the paper towards himself.

**What's so wrong with that?**

Harry's expression wasn't too, well, expressive, but Louis could see the glint of incredulity in his eye.

_Because I don't want to do it?_

**But whynot though?**

Louis sighed; he could tell it was going to be a tricky task already. Harry's eyes were streaming with determination as he scratched onto the page.

 _Because I just_ don't _want to….what's the big deal?_

**The big deal is the fact I know it'll do you good but you're just ignoring me!**

Harry rolled his eyes and shot Louis a hard glare. He knew this wasn't an argument, and Harry's glare wasn't that of anger; it was just mild frustration. Louis was experiencing the same thing because all he wanted was for Harry to listen. Not to sound cocky, but Louis knew these things. He was in the entertainment industry, as such, and he'd performed a million times over; so he knew that this small talent show would be good for Harry.

_How the hell is everyone laughing at me a good thing?!_

Harry's glare was transfixed on the piano keys, staring downwards as he pushed the paper forcefully over to Louis. His curls cascaded a little over his face, but Louis could still see the bleak, set expression on his face.

Louis felt a surge of sadness through his veins, pricking his skin with worry.

Was that truly what Harry thought would happen? Why would he even feel the need to think that? What put that thought in his mind? Just...why?

" _Harry,_ " Louis almost whimpered. As he went to talk, Harry snatched the paper back to him and scribbled on it grittily.

 _I don't want your sympathy, okay? I don't want any fucking pity or sadness on my behalf. And don't patronise me either because I've had enough of that to serve me for a lifetime. I don't want that from you_ _of all people._

Louis felt his heart sink. He couldn't really describe _why_ his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach, but he presumed it was the fact that Harry seemed so persistent in his words. Like he was sick, tired and exhausted of the pity. Louis wasn't sure what to say; he had so much buzzing around in his mind, but nothing seemed to conform into coherent words.

It was the lack of confidence that stuck through to Louis' core. He'd never had that problem; confidence was just threaded through his genes, but here was a boy with little to no confidence. Everyone he'd associated himself with was loud and sometimes slightly arrogant: that's what half the students in his Uni were. That's what they _had_ to be to get by. But Harry wasn't experiencing that, and Harry was Louis' main focus.

Eventually, Louis settled on simplicity:

**They aren't going to laugh at you, Harry...**

Harry scoffed out loud, like Louis' words were total bullshit.

_Of course they will. I'm not that stupid, Lou_

**How do you know they will though? You're incredible, Harry. They aren't going to laugh at someone with so much talent like you have. If anything, they'll be stunned into silence.**

It took a while for Harry to reply. At first he just stared blankly at the paper. Then, once he'd picked up the pen and put the nib to the sheet, he didn't move it. He just sat there, staring. Finally, after he spent time writing, but then scribbling out his words, he spoke out:

_But they don't like me..._

Louis felt his heart shatter. He shut his eyes tight closed. He breathed in deeply through his nose to calm his burning emotions that were avalanching through his body.

It was so simple: so short - but not so sweet.

It exerted so much...so much loneliness, sadness, regret and a splash of bitterness. Although it wasn't said in spite or aggression, it was said in somewhat sorrowful confession. Louis could imagine the words floating in the air; the way they'd be written in a dull light grey, a gradient of light blue washing down the dreary colour to the bottom of the letters. The font would be droopy but strong and still have some form, the way that the words were sorrowful but Harry had the power to admit them. They'd swish through the air but keep sinking, sinking down until they rested in Harry's heart and chained themselves there. Louis wanted to be the key to unlock those words. He wanted to take them and smash them into little shards. He'd throw them out, throw out Harry's unconfident and pessimistic view on the people he went to school with. And then he'd replace them with his name; so Harry would have him in his heart to remind him that somebody outside of his home cared for him.

" _Harry,_ " Louis repeated, similarly to before. "Don't say that, please."

_Don't say what? You know that's what's going to happen. They aren't going to cheer and clap for someone they fucking hate. They'll boo me and jeer at me and I really don't want my school life to be any worse than it is._

**Fuck, Harry. You don't realise how good you are, do you? Regardless or not of whether you're best fucking buddies with them, they aren't going to deny that you can play really bloody well. It'll be great for you, Haz, it really will. You'll gain so much confidence and you'll make your Mum so so proud.**

_No, Louis, I'm not doing it. You can't persuade me, whatever you do, okay?_

**You'll make me proud**

Harry sighed loudly and ran his fingers through his messy curls in despair. He shot Louis a cursory glance as he did so, and let out a low and quiet growl of frustration.

_Don't do this, Louis. Don't guilt trip me into doing this, please_

**I'm not guilt tripping you! I'm just telling the truth! I'd be so proud of you Harry. I can't even tell you how proud I'd be. C'mon, Haz, you know deep down that it's a good idea. You know that you'd feel so proud of yourself and so much more confident once you'd done it. I know deep down that you want to do it.**

Harry repeated a similar reaction to what he did before, sighing and gripping at his brown locks. His face looked torn: undecided and nervous.

_I don't think I can do it, Lou. I know what you're saying, and some of me agrees with you, it does, but I don't think I can actually...do it..._

**You can, baby, you can. Think of how good it'll be after; think of the feeling you get when you play in this room, but then times that by ten because I know from experience that afterwards, the feeling is practically euphoric.**

_I just...it's scary..._

**I know it is, I've been there, remember? I practically do it for a living. I may come across confident, but I still get nervous before I go up on stage, no matter how small the performance is. But I have people around me who support me and wish me luck and make me feel so...so confident to kick everyone's asses that I put on the best performance of my life every time.  You can do that, Harry.**

_I can't though! I don't have those people there to help me, not like you do. I don't have an endless string of friends telling me good luck, telling me to break a leg but they know I'll be amazing anyway. The people in the crowd aren't my friends. I know they aren't my enemies, but they aren't people who like me. I don't have that support!_

**Fuck, Harry, you do. You've got your Mum, and I'm sure Gemma could spare some time to come and support you, or at least call you. Even Robin! Robin's there to send you a text from whichever fancy country he's in now, just to wish you luck. And you've got someone who just wants to see you happy, someone who just wants to see that smile that he knows you'll shine after the performance because it's the smile which makes him burn with bliss and it's the smile he wants to see every single day; you've got me.**

Harry's sparkling green eyes peeked up through his long eyelashes at Louis. They searched his face, scoping out Louis' expression for any insincerity that he knew wouldn't be there, but he had to check. In all honesty, the words made Harry's heart burst in his chest. His breathing almost felt constricted as he read through the words, his breaths becoming thicker with every word.

Harry felt cared for. And it was a wonderful feeling.

Louis' face expressed nothing but honesty, no hint of a lie. He meant it, from the bottom of his heart. A tiny tug at the lips was confirmation that he didn't need to force it out of himself to say such kind and meaningful words; they were all natural when it came to Harry.

Harry's expression to Louis spoke out: _"do you really mean that?"_

"I really do mean it, Harry, so much it's kinda unreal," he chuckled dryly.

Harry still had a look of indecision on his face, like he was having a mental battle with himself.

"Just go for it, Harry," Louis urged softly.

Harry picked up his pen and quickly scribbled on the page:

_You'll definitely be there?_

"Every single second," Louis said truthfully, pronouncing every syllable to make it obvious that he was going to do as he said.

Harry nodded, almost questionably, like he wasn't sure whether he should be agreeing or not.

"Yeh?" Louis said, all wide eyes and encouraging smiles.

It took Harry a few minutes to conjure up his definitive answer, but before Louis knew it, Harry was nodding with more determination than before; telling him that, yes, he was going to perform in front of the school. And Louis had made that happen.

 

**Friday 9**

Louis spotted Harry from afar; he could spot those distinguishable curls from any distance. He scuttled through the school gates, past the groups of people making their way into the school grounds. He could only see the back of Harry, leaning against the car, and could just make out the figures of two women beside him. He quickened his pace, his Converse padding on the gravel as he got closer. He could see Anne's body as she was standing facing him, but he couldn't see the other female face as her back was facing him. But he had an inkling as to who it was.

He noticed Anne's eyes glance over to him, and then her gesture his entrance to Harry. Harry's head shot around immediately, along with the girl's too. His face lit up with a happy and relieved expression, and he scampered over to Louis quickly.

Louis took in the younger boy's outfit as the boy approached him. He'd wanted Louis to help him choose what to wear, but with late practising on a Friday, Louis didn't have the chance to call over. He trusted Anne to make the right decision if Harry was stuck, and it seemed like she had. Because Harry was performing, he couldn't look sloppy. He had to look smart, that was what he was told. Louis knew it was a monumental moment for Harry, to show himself in different attire to his school clothes for presumably one of the first times –especially when all eyes would be on him–, but with the smart dress code he couldn't really stray from the usual school wear.

However, he wore a crisp white shirt that looked thick and had the small, dark blue Abercrombie&Fitch logo on, tucked into his low slung black skinny jeans which were held up by a brown belt. Louis thought he looked gorgeous, hot, fit, and any other word which just screamed sex. The way the shirt was tucked in and his pants were low extenuated his long torso, which Louis had so many times admired. Maybe it was becoming some sort of, at the risk of sounding crude, fetish he had with the boy.

Louis couldn't hold back the grin on his face, white teeth baring in all their fineness, and he pulled Harry into a hug straight away. Harry didn't fight the hug, only because he was evidently nervous as hell. His breathing was ragged and his hands were shaking as they came to rest on Louis' back.

"Hey, hey," Louis began softly in Harry's ear. "Calm down, Haz, it's going to be fine."

He pulled back to see Harry's face in full view. The younger boy's face was cast downwards with his curls falling over his eyes. Louis hesitantly placed his finger under Harry's chin, and raised it to normal level slowly. Harry's green eyes were shut softly, scared to open and face reality.

"Look at me," Louis whispered. Harry shook his head weakly, a furrow forming between his eyebrows.

"Harry, look at me," Louis repeated, sound coming through his voice.

After a scrunch of his features, Harry finally cracked his eyes open into the depth of Louis' blue orbs. Louis stared right back at him, not allowing Harry to break the eye contact for the first time since they'd met.

Harry needed it; he didn't want to stop it. Louis’ eyes were pools of aqua that had reassurance, hope and pride floating on the surface as specks of green and gold.  They seemed endless, like the colour went on forever and ever.

Harry hadn't looked in many eyes, but he was sure these eyes in front of him were the best you could find.

Louis, on the other hand, had seen the green orbs before him already, but that wasn't to say he'd seen them so close. He'd had flashes, glimpses, of the beauty. It sound cliché and cheesy, but Louis couldn't help but immerse himself in the perfect shade of green that drenched Harry's wide eyes. They shone with inexplicable worry, but had a hint of ambition.

Louis could've stared in them for days.

"You listen to me, Haz," Louis' quiet voice was shaky and weak. "You are going to do perfectly in there, I just know you are, so don't go get all panicky on me, alright?"

Harry nodded tentatively before shrugging and shaking his head as if to say _"it's not that though.."_

"What is it? Tell me, babe," Louis urged delicately.

Harry's eyes reluctantly glanced to the side, flickering around the school entrance where there were gatherings of students who were, perhaps, waiting for their friends. They stood in their casual clothes, laughing and joking, big smiles on their faces. They looked smart enough, bar a few of the boys who didn't even look like they wanted to be there but had been dragged along by their girlfriends. His eyes lingered on them with sadness and concern.

"Is it them? Are you worried that the other students won't want you here?"

Harry's nod was meek and almost guilty. His attention turned back to Louis and he ducked his head and sucked in his bottom lip.

"Oh, _Haz._ You've got to get some confidence into you. They won't mind, silly, you're allowed to come to these things; it's _your_ school life too." Louis noticed Anne and the girl making their way over to the boys, edging slowly as not to interfere. "And anyway, I don't see them having the guts to perform, do you?"

Louis shot Harry a cheeky grin, patting his shoulder reassuringly, and turned to greet Anne. He hugged her tightly, melting into the motherly embrace.

"Thank you for persuading him, Lou; I'm so glad you did," Anne said gratefully as they pulled away.

"My pleasure," Louis smiled sincerely. "Gotta get some confidence into this little rascal don't we?" he said, pulling Harry into a head lock playfully and ruffling his hair around into a mess. Harry wriggled around in the position and broke free. He had a jokey pout on his face that was curled upwards at the ends as his hands scrambled to sort out the mess Louis had made with his hair.

He heard an unfamiliar chuckle and his eyes locked onto a girl with, well, very familiar looking eyes. They were similar to the ones he'd just stared deeply into, –although not as perfect, because really, nobody's eyes could be as perfect as Harry's, _really–_ and as he scanned her feature, he notices hints of Anne bursting through.

"Louis, I don't think you've met Gemma before, have you?" Anne said friendlily.

"No, I can't say I have," he stepped forward towards the fashionably dressed, pretty girl. "Louis Tomlinson," he offered with a smile.

"Gemma Styles," she said with a sweet smile whilst surging forward to embrace Louis in a welcoming hug.

"We should probably get going now, it's nearly show time!" Anne cheered joyfully. She linked her arm through Gemma's and pulled her over to the entrance. Louis sent Harry an encouraging glance and threw his arm over the younger boy's shoulder, guiding him over to the building.

As they entered the hall where the performances would take place, Louis spotted that the seating had the majority of it filled. There were students and parents scattered around, but it was mainly students. Some of them were engaged in deep conversation, gossiping excitedly, and some were just aimlessly staring around the room as they waited for the show to begin.

As the family, plus Louis, entered, Harry's head suddenly lowered and his eyes were cast down onto the ground. Louis wanted nothing but to pull his face up and feed him an ounce or two of confidence so that he didn't have to feel the need to clam up, but he soon realised why Harry was so shy. Heads turned towards them and an instant disapproving look etched upon some of the students' faces. They looked the boy up and down, judging him. Some of the lads whispered over to their mates, pointing towards Harry with a mocking expression.

Louis was baffled as to why some, not all, of the teenagers would be so utterly ignorant and judgemental. Yes, he hadn't been in schooling for a few years, but he was sure it was never _this_ bad at his school. Maybe he hadn't taken the time to notice some of the quieter students; after all, he did have quite a big presence and that might have overpowered his remembrance of the shier teenagers. But still, it wasn't normal to act such a way. Harry wasn't getting bullied in school, he knew that, but this kind of reception wasn't nice at all. Just because Harry had probably never gone to any of these events before didn't mean he couldn't do now.

Anne and Gemma seemed oblivious as they faffed around finding the seats they were allocated, but Louis couldn't help but notice every face that seemed surprised to see Harry there. It wasn't as if they were going to jeer the boy, or anything of the similar, but it made it look like Harry wasn't meant to be there. Their shocked faces might have been because of the tight arm that Louis had wound around Harry's waist. He didn't realise when it had wandered downwards, but he suspected it was in comfort when Harry dropped his head.

"You okay?" Louis whispered into Harry's ear as they slowly walked over to the door leading backstage. Harry's head was still directed at the floor but he nodded nonetheless. They stopped at the stairs that led to it, and Louis stood in front of the younger boy.

"Hey," Louis said quietly over the bustle of the audience. He did as he did before, gently lifting Harry's chin up so he could look at the boy's face properly. "I want you to listen to me, okay? I want you to listen to everything I say next."

Harry looked at Louis in agreement, turning up his lips into a promising smile.

"This is all from experience, okay? So like, believe me, I know how you feel right now. Forget everyone in the crowd. Forget all those bastards there and focus on your performance. Immerse yourself in your music, Harry. Lose yourself in it. If you need support, then look towards me or your Mum, or Gemma if you like, but I can assure you that you don't need us. As much as you think you do, you don't. Because you're strong inside, Harry; you're a fighter. You've got that determination and you've got that motivation to make this the best performance you'll ever give. You should see how amazing you look tonight, Haz. You look like a real performer; you look absolutely gorgeous. Just believe that you are, because I know from the bottom of my heart that you are a performer and that tonight you'll show everyone what you're made of."

 

([x](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hl3VS7Vn97I&feature=youtu.be)) The stage was dark except for one spotlight blaring down onto a piano which stood silent. The piano was on a slant, and the curly haired boy's poised fingers could be seen from the seat Louis was in. Harry's head was drooped forward; Louis could see his back contracting and relaxing as he presumably breathed in to calm his nerves.

His head flickered up and his eyes searched for those bright blues. It wasn't long, merely seconds, until he connected with them. Louis made sure that his eyes were soft, exerting nothing but support, encouragement and pure pride. He was proud of Harry even just sitting there, regardless of the fact his fingers hadn't pressed down on the keys. Harry had never done this kind of thing before, so it was a big step for him; that in itself made Louis' heart swell because _he_ caused that; _he_ encouraged the boy to do that.

Once Louis had filtered so much belief into Harry, the boy returned to the keys, focussed and drenching himself in the piano and the piano only.

It started off relatively slow, soft presses on the keys which set the mood of the piece. It was a plain tinkling, simple but had complexity behind it from the extra notes added to complete it. It was a somewhat mellow, sinking-heart type of mood. You could feel your heart beating with every base note, swaying with the sounds. It wasn't long before the higher notes came into play, displaying Harry's ability to hold both the deep undertone but carry out the blurred sharpness of the higher pitched. It was gentle, how he played those notes, not too much pressure so to keep the song in its drifting mood.

Harry's head was down, hiding his face, but Louis knew his eyes would be tight shut. His expression would be relaxed, except for the squeezed closed eyelids which would be pensive because of his need to feel only the music.

It was simple enough, when concentrating on the higher notes. But this simplicity didn't seem to be frowned upon in the room; it was actually mesmerising. The room was deathly silent. Every eye was focused on the single boy. Every ear was tuned in to the sounds floating out of the piano. Every mind never wanted it to end.

And then it got complex. The notes were fast and the speed in which Harry's fingers moved was inexplicable. He did it with such ease, like it was second nature to be so experienced at the tender age of 16. Harry's head wasn't as still as it was when the softer notes approached; it was swaying with the force of his fingers. It was like the musical energy was surging through his veins and causing any possible part of his body to move and succumb to such entrancing sounds.

It returned to its quietness and it's serenity for a little, the perfect balance between bursting passion and simple love for the instrument. The passion returned again with quick tinkling fingers, gradually slowing down over time until it ended on the perfect chords.

The room was silent. Jaws were dropped and tears filled eyes. Those tearful eyes mainly belonged to Louis, Anne and Gemma, because, God, Louis was practically weeping with pride. When the applause erupted and Harry was heaved out of his musical pool of passion, drenched in his achievement, his face turned to the audience with shock plastered all over it. His eyes were widened with surprise before he noticed that that reaction was for _him._ And then he smiled, toothy and albeit just to himself as he flushed scarlet and looked down to the ground, but he smiled nonetheless.

That was when the tears streamed a little faster down Louis' face because, fuck, he was so proud of his boy, more than he could ever imagine. Seeing him like that made Louis want to scream from the rooftops that Harry had just performed to around 300 people and he'd done it perfectly. When Harry scuttled off the stage, a quaint and pleased smile on his lips, Louis turned and clung onto Anne who was crying like a proud mother would. He wiped his eyes with a watery chuckle, but knew the feeling of pride wouldn't wipe away any time soon.

 

It was a painful –that was the only way to describe it– twenty minutes that Louis had to wait for the show to end. One reason was that, well, let's just say this dance act was particularly cheesy. Pompoms and neon bright clothes weren't really Louis' thing, especially when the clothes were incredibly short on the girl's bodies and the dancing was more like grinding than dancing. The other reason, the main reason, was that he had to wait the excruciatingly long length of time to go see Harry. The boy was still backstage, and was only allowed to leave when the show had finished, so Louis had no way of telling him how proud he was until after the show. He considered sneaking off, pretending he needed a piss or something, but a curt glare from the woman in front when he told his plan to Anne was the decision maker that he really had to stay.

When the show ended and people started filing out, Louis immediately jumped up, grabbing Anne's hand who grabbed Gemma's, and wound the three of them through the crowd to the door backstage. He opened the door and charged through the passing performers, looking for those infamous curls.

Anne spotted them first, pointing him out and calling the boy with excitement in her voice. She rushed over to him and pulled him into the tightest hug she could, and for once it was returned with much vigour. Louis trundled over, not wanting to break the moment, and stood away from them, watching Harry interact with his mother. Gemma stepped in next, not giving her brother as long a hug but expressing as much happiness and pride as her mother did.

The smile never left Harry's face.

And then his jade green eyes flickered over to the lingering blue eyed boy. They lit up, thrilled. His grin turned into a closed lipped smile, but it was equally as bright. It was softer than the toothy smile, more sincere and with a hint of gratefulness. Anne and Gemma crept to the side and let Louis walk over to Harry. He struggled keeping his pace normal, when all he wanted to do was sprint and knock the younger boy down into a bone crushing hug, sprawled on the floor.

When he reached Harry, he stood in front of him, eyes looking up a slight bit at the taller boy. He looked into those green eyes which seemed so susceptible to expression, and he made sure that Harry looked back into puddles of pride.

"I'm so proud of you," Louis whispered, finding that his voice was too weak to come out strong.

Harry closed his eyes softly in acceptance, a content smile lighting up his face. When his eyes opened, they shone happiness.

Louis couldn't resist it any longer and soon enough his arms were wrapped around Harry's neck and he was hugging him tightly. He felt long arms encase his back as Harry hugged back. His face was pressed into the warm skin of Harry's neck, as was Harry's to his. They stood in their embrace for as long as they could. It was as if their touching limbs were transferring the pride that Louis felt, and the gratefulness that Harry needed to express to Louis.

They pulled away, reluctantly, and after a prolonged stare into the other's eyes and whispers of pride falling from Louis' lips, Harry randomly took Louis' right hand in his.

"What are you-" Louis started, but Harry held his finger up to quiet him.

Slowly, Harry used a pointed finger to trace two letters onto Louis' palm delicately.

"T...Y" Louis read out as Harry tickled his palm with the letters. "TY?"

Harry nodded brightly.

Louis wracked his brains for the words starting with T and Y, but found none in his repertoire at that moment. His brain still wasn't up to scratch from Harry's emotional performance; it couldn't be expected of him to know any out of the ordinary words.

Harry sighed a little, joking of course, and repeated the action, slower this time.

And Louis gasped a little when he worked it out, looking up at the boy with hope from where he had stared at his tingling palm.

"Thank you?" he asked somewhat breathlessly.

Harry nodded enthusiastically, grinning dazzlingly.

Louis choked on his breath as he came to terms with Harry's actions and words. Again, he forgot about pre-warnings and jumped into Harry's arms. His legs wrapped around Harry's waist and his arms kept hold around his neck.

He whispered into Harry's ear with utmost sincerity and honesty;

"Anything for you."


	11. Saturday 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ONCE AGAIN, PLEASE CHECK THAT YOU HAVE READ THE CHAPTER BEFORE LAST BECAUSE I FORGOT TO POST IT LAST TIME AND SKIPPED IT COMPLETELY BCOS I'M SUCH A STUPID TWAT

**Saturday 11**

The warm heat radiated down onto Louis' thin shirted chest as he lay peacefully on the grass. His sunglasses were perched on his nose, his skin not needing to be layered in sun cream, thank God. The stuff was the bane of his life; having to slick up his sisters' skin everyday on holiday was enough to put him off using it ever again, especially when they insisted on squirting it everywhere.

It was surprising, the heat, when the days previous had been laden with on and off showers, clouded skies, and the odd spot of rumbling thunder. But Louis decided to embrace it fully and make use of the spontaneous weather flush, by bringing Harry back to the park.

It reminded him of the first time they went out, well, bar the gig incident. Their ice creams were finished already and their stomachs were lined with the creamy goodness that made Louis' hands partially sticky. The two couldn't be bothered with making their way up the hill in such, for Britain, sweltering heat, so they decided to claim the spot by the fountain, under the big oak tree which cast a cooling shadow for them to lie under. That didn't stop the sun creeping through, though, to clamber onto Louis' skin, although it didn't seem to take much of a latch onto Harry who was buried back on the tree trunk.

Louis looked over at the boy: back propped up on the trunk, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, arms folded together. One slice of sun cast through the leaves and shone yellow over a strip of Harry's face, lighting up one side of his sunglasses, a section of his nose and the corner of his lips. His milky skin wasn't radiant; it wasn't blaringly white, but it did have a certain gleaming glow when the sun cast itself over it.

His outfit wasn't necessarily the best for the sunny day, but Louis gave him the benefit of the doubt because he had just sprung the idea upon the boy as they lazed in the air conditioned piano room. Secretly, Louis wished that the heat would become almost too much to bear for the boy and he'd so innocently have to peel off that Ramones shirt and reveal that long, _very_ long, enticing, grab-worthy, bruise-worthy, running-hands-over-constantly-worthy, lick-wor- _shit, okay, let's pretend that never happened._

He looked so at peace, although that makes him sound like he's dead, but he did look so calm. You couldn't tell whether his eyes were shut or wide open due to those Ray Bans which suited him so well. He almost looked like a rock star, lazing in the sun after a heavy gig. The wild hair added to the look, along with the outfit - which now, Louis was rather pleased Harry was wearing. That vision was one Louis liked quite a lot, and suddenly, images of Harry in eyeliner popped into his mind. He liked those images, probably too much. But really, the way the black outlined the bright green of his eyes was something which couldn't be resisted.

His cheeks flushed instantly, and his thoughts flushed away with them, as he became aware of how Harry had lifted his sunglasses up and was staring at him warily. Plastering on an overly cheery grin, Louis waved enthusiastically to try and deter Harry's thoughts from the fact Louis had been out rightly checking him out. He scooted up over to Harry's position and settled himself similarly to Harry.

"So," Louis said, turning his face to Harry whilst he pulled off his sunglasses and shoved them into Harry's satchel.

Harry did the same with his sunglasses and nodded with a brief smile, as if saying the same thing in response.

Just then, Louis spotted the little cart full of cold drinks, and immediately became aware of how parched he felt. "I'm going to get something to drink, you want anything?"

Harry shook his head, rustling around in his satchel and pulling out a half-finished bottle of water. Louis nodded, bidding Harry a quick 'be right back' as he scuttled over to the cart.

He returned no longer than a few minutes later, his pocket two pounds lighter but his hand heavy with the ice cold beer. He slumped back down next to the boy, taking a long and well needed sip, sighing in relief as the strong taste washed down his throat. He could feel Harry's eyes directed towards him, and as he took a short swallow, he peeped from the side of his eye to see the boy staring intently at the green bottle that dripped with condensation.

"Oh, are you okay with me having this? I know you don't drink or anything, so it's alright if you don't want me drinking around you..." Louis asked as the idea for the staring sprung to his mind. Harry, however, denied these thoughts and shook his head firmly. Louis' gaze was curious and interested as he stared Harry down suspiciously, and it made Harry reply with a shrug and a bat of the hand to show that it wasn't that at all.

"Tell me what you're thinking," Louis urged, producing a notepad from Harry's satchel that he took from the piano room before they left. He pressed that and a pen down on Harry's lap and grinned triumphantly when Harry let out a defeated sigh and reluctantly flipped over the page to write.

_I just...I was just wondering what it was like, that's all_

Louis' brow furrowed a little in confusion. "What, this you mean? Like the taste?" he asked, shaking the bottle a little to gesture to it. "'Coz you can try some if you want, I don't mind." He moved the bottle closer to Harry's face, not realising it was practically touching his lips. Harry scrunched his nose up and pushed the bottle away, reaching for the notepad again.

_No, not like that, I mean like drinking in general. Like getting drunk and stuff, that's all._

"Oh..." Louis said softly, "You've never gotten drunk before have you?" his tone wasn't patronising, more gentle with slight questioning, but more knowledge than pure confusion.

Harry looked downwards, biting the inside of his cheek, and shook his head almost solemnly.

"D'you want me to tell you what it's like? Is that what you were wondering?"

Harry lifted the pen and quickly scratched down a word on the paper which lay on his lap, dormant:

_Please_

He looked up from under his eyelashes, bright jade orbs glinting in the sunlight. His smile wasn't sorrowful, but it wasn't happy either. It wasn't like he was ashamed of his lack of drunken times, not at all, but the quaint tug at the corners of his lips showed some slight wish for memories like that. He was vulnerable to the feeling of regret, regret that he didn't try enough to act like a normal teenager would. But Louis didn't like normal: he liked Harry.

"I...there isn't anything specific you feel, y'know? To be honest, there isn't much good about it. I mean, you forget what you did the night before if you get really mortal, wake up with a banging headache, and some alcohol tastes like absolute shit. But I guess it's just the buzz you get. Maybe it's the fact you know it's not good for you, that you get drunk. Like, I know that I'll feel like crap the day after and I know that I'll probably do something stupid, but it's a way to get away from everything neat and orderly and just be reckless for once, so I just keep drinking. If I'm honest, I regret drinking so young. I wasn't abominably young or anything, but I think I wore it out at a young age and now it's not as...well not as exciting. So you aren't really missing much; there's still time anyway. You aren't even legal anyway, so it'll make your first drink at 18 more exciting than mine from the get go."

Harry sat in thought for a minute, his eyes trailing down to the paper after listening intently to Louis' speech.

_You think I haven't like fucked up my childhood then by not doing normal teenage things? I just...I see all these teenagers living that kind of life, like going to parties every week and getting smashed, and I feel like I should feel like I'm missing out..._

"Wha- no, Haz, of course you haven't! Don't think like that, okay? Your life is as good as theirs, maybe even better because you don't spend every Sunday cooped up in the bathroom barfing your guts up. Seriously, you've got years and years to experience that, and anyway, they just do it to look cool and half the time they look the opposite. Looking back on it now, at an age where I've been allowed to drink legally for years, I just looked like a wannabe, a really un-cool wannabe."

Harry chuckled at the thought of a younger, un-cool Louis acting stupidly drunk, even though his imagination kept the good looks rather than decreasing them to a spotty teenager's adolescent features. He seemed to feel a little more at ease if the pull at his lips, which didn't look like it was about to drop any time soon, was anything to go by. He scribbled on the piece of paper, but as soon as his eyes flashed up to Louis then back over the words, a blush spread over his cheeks.

"Oi!" Louis protested as Harry went to scratch out the words. His objection stunted Harry's actions as his eyes flickered up to Louis in surprise, and Louis took this lapse in concentration to his advantage. He threw his body over to Harry –thankfully he had put his bottle down beforehand–, and scrambled to get the paper. Harry was quick to act and wrestled with Louis in prevention of the paper being released, but soon enough, Louis' legs were straddling Harry and his fingers were tickling the younger boy until the book dropped from the boy’s clutch.

Still sitting on Harry, Louis brought the paper up to his face to read it clearer:

_Will you buy me my first legal drink?_

Harry was blushing furiously under Louis, bright scarlet lighting up his cheeks. Maybe that was because of their position and the fact that Louis was _on top_ of him, or maybe it was because he was embarrassed by the words he scrawled on the lines.

" _Haz_ ," Louis said, not with mocking in his tone, but with a smudge of disbelief and joy. "You really want that?"

Harry looked indecisive in whether to own up and tell the truth or not. His eyes flickered around the leaf canopy above them, searching for the right answer. A shrug was all the leaves offered, so that was all Harry answered with. It was neither saying yes or no, so either way, Harry thought he'd covered all bases. He hoped his face didn't give away that his mind was chanting _yesyesyes._

"Well...if it _is_ what you want, then I'd be honoured to," Louis said diplomatically, not letting Harry know that he could see what the boy really wanted buried in his eyes.

Those eyes betrayed him once again, even though Louis still wasn't looking directly into them, when they lit up with pure joy and enthusiasm. The smile which broke through on his lips even parted a little into a half grin, revealing a little of those pearly whites which Louis wanted to run his tongue ov- _God, not again, it's like my thoughts aren't even controllable any more._

It was then that Louis remembered he was straddling Harry. Not wanting to overstay his welcome on the boy's hips and make him uncomfortable, and not wanting to become uncomfortable himself with a certain type of problem, Louis clambered off the boy and sat himself down cross-legged to the side of him.

He didn't notice the dip in Harry's features as he did so, the tiny furrow in his brow and twitch of his fingers to pull the older boy over again.

"C'mon, sit up," Louis ordered, grabbing Harry's hand to pull him into a seated position. This time, Louis didn't miss the flare up of another blush on the boy's features, but he pretended to miss it nonetheless, even though internally he couldn't suppress the smirk of accomplishment.

"Tell me what you want to know," he said, handing the paper back over to Harry.

Harry accepted the stationary and pondered upon a question for a little, the end of the pen caught between his lips thoughtfully.

_Tell me about your 18th?_

"My 18th? It was pretty uneventful, really. Because my birthday is Christmas Eve, my Mum literally like forced it down my throat that I wasn't allowed to get drunk. So it was only one or two drinks down the pub with Zayn, but it didn't feel anything different than usual. The barmaid let us drink there since we were early 17 so it wasn't anything special."

_Oh...well your 19th then?_

Louis' face lit up with a smirk, "well my 19th was much better, believe me. It wasn't on my actual birthday; it was just around New Years when we celebrated it. Me, Zayn, Liam and Niall all went to Magaluf, and my God, it was the best time I've had like ever. It was totally random, like, I had no clue it was going to happen until the day we went. To be honest, I was kinda bitter with them because they made out they had forgotten my birthday all together, but then they gave me the tickets and it was just _so_ good. It was full of drinking, getting smashed every night, dancing, skinny dipping–"

Harry's eyes widened comically and his jaw dropped in shock.

_Skinny dipping?!_

Louis laughed, "I know right? I was totally off my face, but somehow I can still remember it. It was hilarious. I don't know _why_ I did it, it was just me and Zayn who did it, so it wasn't like all of us did it, which is weird, but it was so...fun. Like, it was so freezing the pool that I swear I, like, numbed my cock or something, but it was just such a thrill doing it."

Harry burst out laughing just as Louis' finished, and Louis couldn't help but laugh along at the memory. Harry's head was thrown back and his mouth was parted in a huge grin, chiming out that gorgeous laugh of his. He continued to bubble out little snorts of laughter after he'd calmed down, obviously not being able to get the image out of his mind.

"So, let's just move on from that," Louis chuckled, swerving the subject and more potential breakouts in booming laughter at his expense –not that he minded when it was Harry's laugh that was directed at him.

_What else did you do there? Other than skinny dipping that is..._

"Hmm...let me think...I don't think anything major happened. Oh! I did have a bit of a holiday romance," Louis winked.

_Oh yeh? Tell me about him!_

"He was actually pretty boring, if I'm honest. But I mean, at the time, all I wanted was a good fuck so I didn't really give a shit whether he held a good conversation. We just met up every night at the club and took things from there. I guess it wasn't really a holiday romance come to think about it, more like a holiday fuck-buddy. That doesn't sound as good, does it?"

Harry wasn't blushing, as such, as he wrote his next reply; there was only a light dusting of pink on his cheeks. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth and he shyly showed Louis his notepad.

_I'd like a holiday romance, I think they're sweet_

Louis wanted to 'aw' aloud, but he didn't and kept it restrained in his throat. "Mine wasn't really that sweet though, was it? A quick shag on the deck chair isn't really the most romantic thing ever," Harry chuckled a little, along with Louis.

_But still, I mean, I'd pick a guy who isn't as boring as yours though, obviously_

Louis' eyes skimmed the sentence a few times, but kept getting caught on that one word: guy. He couldn't stop the words flowing from his mouth, "Guy?"

Harry definitely blushed this time. His cheeks flared bright pink and it looked as if he wanted to hide his face in his hands in embarrassment. He nodded in admittance, and Louis smiled reassuringly at him as if to say that it was okay. It was always going to be okay with Louis; he was probably the gayest person Harry had met, so there wasn't a chance in hell that the boy would treat him any differently.

He obviously wasn't meaning to let it slip, but he did. Louis was kind of glad, shocked, but glad. This situation was calm and not overly pressurising at all. It didn't make the confession too big and heavy, it just slipped –hypothetically– through Harry's lips as if it were a normal confession about nothing in particular. It must've been easier for Harry than telling him in a conversation solely for that, so Louis was glad it was out in the open. Plus, it meant that Louis' crush on the boy wasn't wasted on someone who was as straight as a ruler; he was a flexi ruler now.

_So, moving on from that, is Magaluf the furthest you've been? Like clubbing wise, I mean_

"Oh yeh, that's the only time I've been; I can't afford to go now. I'm surprised the boys could afford it, like it was pretty expensive being there, what with all the drinks and stuff, but they paid for my ticket and all that so it must've been pricey for them. I'd travel to London and stuff, I can scrape that, but not out the country. Do you think you would? Like, travel out to go clubbing, if you drank that is."

_Nah, probably not. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love travelling to other countries on holiday and stuff, but not for one thing in particular. But I don't know the difference between clubbing here, and clubbing in other countries....is there any difference actually?_

"Not really. Probably just the weather difference and maybe that it's cheaper. Everyone's there just for clubbing, so I guess that's what changes the atmosphere a bit, but around here it's still just as good. If you're going there with the intention of getting drunk, you can do that in the club down the road just as easily. Clubbing is just clubbing, basically; you drink, dance, and drink some more," Louis shrugged nonchalantly.

_Is that why you like it? The dancing and stuff? Is the feeling when you dance the thing that you like?_

Louis thought for a few seconds upon his answer. The dancing wasn't proper dancing, regardless of the show he put on last time; he didn't normally do that. "Well I suppose it is, but it isn't at the same time; does that make sense? Like dancing on the stage is different: that's proper routines, where you put your whole heart into it, whereas in clubs it's just more like...it sounds crude, but grinding and stuff. You don't have to put much effort in; it's the alcohol that gives you that buzz rather than the dancing. It's fun, something to do, but it isn't the same, y'know?"

_Like how I get a different feeling when I play your piano, to my piano at home? On your piano it feels right, whole, but on my one at home it doesn't flow as well._

Harry's eyes were wide and innocent as they stared up at Louis, trying to help Louis to explain with a connection of his own.

"Yeh, I suppose, just like that," Louis offered with a smile and an encouraging nod. Harry smiled happily when he understood, it made Louis' heart beat quickly. "It just depends on the situation, yeh?"

Harry nodded eagerly in agreement. It was as if Harry's ears pricked up at the moment, and his attention was diverted to the little band busking by the fountain. They'd been playing classic tunes in the background, taking advantage of the popular park and good weather. There was a guitarist, a bassist, a singer who had a keyboard in front of him, and two people playing trumpets. They hadn't been too bad, to Louis' recollection, but he hadn't really taken notice of them that much except from when they first came into the park.

Harry's face lit up in recognition as he seemingly worked what the singer was saying. A grin stretched over his face as he saw the musicians prepare their instruments and music for this song which Harry was so excited about.

Just as Louis was about to ask what was happening, Harry wrote on the paper quickly and showed it to Louis:

_They're going to play Stevie Wonder! My favourite one as well!_

Louis looked at Harry's brightened expression, scoping out how happy and thrilled he was just because the band were playing his favourite song by his favourite artist. Music meant a lot to Harry, of that was obvious, but Stevie Wonder meant a whole lot more. Louis hadn't heard someone babble on as much about how amazing a person was since he lived at home with his sisters, and they chuntered on _a lot_ about Justin Bieber. Louis didn't mind it though; he loved it in fact. Harry adored the man; he was in such awe of him it was unexplainable.  It seemed to put him at ease, the soothing tone of his voice. Even if the song was upbeat, Harry relaxed into a state of calm and bliss. His music meant the world to Harry.

So as soon as Louis saw those words combined with that beautiful expression, he grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him up from the ground with a heave. He wasted no time in dragging –although there was little resistance on the other end– the younger boy over to the small crowd that was gathered around the band. They reached there just as the first note was played, and Harry's smile instantly grew into the biggest grin Louis thought he'd ever seen.

Louis loved it when Harry smiled, so much. It didn't ever look strained or out of place, too large or too small; it was always just right. It was when he wore a toothy grin that Louis' heart fluttered the most. It showed ultimate happiness, ultimate joy. To think that all those weeks ago, just seeing him bear a closed-lip smile was a huge achievement, it astounded him how things had changed. It was bittersweet; Louis didn't want anything to change from now on. Harry seemed truly happy and that was all that mattered, but a small part of him kept tugging at his heart and reminding him of those feeling he didn't want to scare Harry away with.

The music was infectious in itself, but Harry's beaming smile was even more. Louis was smiling so hard his cheeks were aching almost straight away, but that didn't deter him from expressing his happiness. He stood behind Harry, who was lost in the music even though the man's voice wasn't up to Stevie-standard –but then again, who even _was_ up to his standard?– and wrapped his arms around the boy's waist.

Harry didn't tense much, maybe a little at the shock, but as soon as he felt Louis' chin on his shoulder and could hear his voice singing the words in his ear, he relaxed into the hold. His hands crossed over to hold onto Louis' arms as Louis swayed them from side to side, dancing a little to the music.

They were oblivious to their surroundings. They were lost in the joyful tune and the feel of the other's head resting on their own. They were trapped in a bubble of happiness.

It was just their luck that someone was insistent on coming along to burst that bubble.

Louis' phone buzzed and blared out obnoxiously in his pocket, thankfully, when the song had finished and they were waiting for the next song; but still, it pulled the two from their indulgent trance. Louis fished it from his pocket and pressed answer straight away, not bothering to check the caller ID. All he wanted to do was get the call over and done with so he could get back to Harry and spend the rest of the afternoon in peace.

"Hello?" He asked. The band seemed to be playing an unknown song to both Harry and Louis so with a nod of his head, Louis gestured for them to return back to their spot.

"Hey mate."

Zayn.

Well, shit.

Louis spied over at Harry who was walking slowly a little in front of him, not taking notice at all. Louis really didn't want to talk to Zayn at that exact second; it really wasn't the time. What with all that happened last time, he didn't want a repeat experience. Of course he promised himself he'd never do anything of the similar again, so he wasn't going to do it again, but he had no clue what he'd say instead. He'd gone over the situation a million times in his head, coming up with many different ways he could've changed what he'd said, but now they were all blank.

"O-oh Zayn- uhm hey, what's up?" He stuttered before composing himself to act nonchalant.

"Not much, just wondering what you were up to that's all," there was something behind Zayn's tone that Louis couldn't distinguish; he wasn't actually sure whether he wanted to find out what it was or not, it'd be safer not to.

"Erm- nothing much, just...chilling," Louis winced at how awkward he sounded, and really, who even says 'chilling' anymore?

"Really? Chilling are you? Are you 'chilling' anywhere nice?" Louis could practically feel Zayn's judgement through the phone, could practically see the inverted commas he would be doing over his random words.

"Uh no, not really, just at the park, nothing special," Louis kept his eyes trained on Harry who was closing in on the tree.

As he watched, the younger boy took a stumble over his own feet and Louis had to clamp his hand over his mouth to suppress the laughter that was about to burst out. Harry straightened himself out and looked around to check if anyone had noticed, and nobody had, until his eyes landed on Louis who was trembling with silent laughter. He blushed and flipped him the middle finger, which just made Louis want to laugh even harder. He slumped down by the tree, pretending to sulk, but the smirk-like smile on his lips made his act unconvincing.

"Louis? You there?" He heard through the phone. Louis remembered the boy on the line and coughed awkwardly, trying to rid himself of the sight of Harry falling and the laughter that followed.

"Yeh, sure, sorry. What were you saying?"

"I was saying that I'm near the park, I could come meet you if you like?" Zayn offered, that tone still loitering in his voice.

"No!" Louis burst out, but coughed to correct himself quickly. "I mean, no there's no need. I'm leaving anyway so there's not much point..."

"Surely you can stay a little longer, just to see your best mate? I haven't seen you in ages; you never come and see us boys anymore on a Saturday..."

"Uhm I've just been busy with Uni, that's all; Saturday's are the best day to get stuff done..." Louis lied, well, kind of. Technically he was normally in the Uni grounds, he just wasn't doing work.

"But you have time to go to the park? Yeh, right," Zayn retorted sarcastically.

"I'm...I'm doing work! Yeh, I'm getting an essay done. Making use of the sun and stuff, y'know?"

Louis heard some muttering in the background, he wasn't sure who it was from but it didn't sound like they were too happy.

"So you aren't with someone right this second?" Zayn probed.

Louis froze. What was he supposed to say? He was itching to just admit it, but something was holding him back, maybe the harsh tone in Zayn's voice that scared him to lack of admittance. "Umm...I...well..."

"Oh for fucks sake, Lou," Zayn growled before hanging up abruptly. Louis pulled the phone from his ear and stared at it in somewhat surprise. Well, that was unexpected. Zayn wasn't a one to hang up on someone all too often; he was more of someone to tell the other this thoughts. Especially with Louis, he'd tell the lad whether he was pissed off at him and tell him why, straight and simple. There weren't many times where he'd be angry at the flamboyant boy; he was usually quite tolerant with him, but there had been times where he just couldn't put a lid on it and he had to tell the boy to just fuck off.

So that was why this time was shocking for Louis; the boy just hung up, leaving Louis on edge and totally bemused.

As he was making his was over to the lazing boy, a furrow still in his brow as the phone call didn't seem to want to budge from his mind any time soon, he heard someone fast approaching behind him. Deeming it just to be a child chasing a ball or something, Louis kept padding his way over to Harry who had spotted his return and sent him a smile and a wave.

"Hey, Haz, d'you fanc-" Louis started to call over to the boy, but he was interrupted quickly by a familiar voice behind him; the sound freezing his speech and actions to a stop.

"Haz?" The voice was firm, harsh and vindictive; not similar to how it usually sounded. It was said like the face behind it would have a questioning, judgemental expression spread across it, finding no need to hide the dismay the person felt.

"Fuck," Louis muttered under his breath, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and lifting his hand to rub it over his face in anguish. Of course this was going to happen; he couldn't have one nice day without something going wrong.

He swivelled around on the balls of his feet to come face to face with the voice.

Zayn.

Niall and Liam were hovering behind, but it was obvious that Zayn was the one with the strongest feelings about the situation as he stood tall in front.

Louis rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Uh h-hey mate, you alright?" His tone was cautious because God knows how malicious Zayn could be in a state like this.

"Haz?" He repeated again, almost spitting the words at him.

"Look, Zayn, I can expla-"

"So we're on a nickname basis are we? Haz is short for Harry I presume, yeh?"

"So what if it is? What difference does that make to you?" Louis quipped defensively.

"It makes a difference to me when you're lying to me!"

"C'mon, mate, don't get pissed over something like this. I wasn't even really lying to you, you didn't give me the chance to explain," Louis tried to reason.

"I'll get pissed if I want to! Fuck, Lou, you were never going to explain. I gave you a million chances to and you didn't take any of them."

"I didn't know you were here! I would've told you if I knew!"

"What, so you would've told me that you were here with fuckface?" Zayn retorted quickly, stepping forward

It was like there was a volcano in Louis' chest that was triggered off with that one word insult, erupting anger through his veins, speeding through him rapidly and feeding through his words.

"Don't call him that," he growled lowly. His posture was defensive, his hands balled in fists by his sides. Of course he wasn't going to turn to violence, not with his best mate, but he had to physically hold his anger back somehow.

"But that's what he is, isn't he? This is the lad who can't speak, right? I don't see how he can be anything other than a fucked up twat," Zayn said it like it was the only possible name Harry could be called, like his opinion was clearly the one that everyone else must've had too.

"He's my friend, that's what he is. He's far from... _that._ "

Louis words seem to shock Zayn. They stumped him a little. His eyes widened comically, eyebrows shooting up his forehead. Maybe his reaction was enough to show the judgement he was drenching Louis in in that moment, but Louis took no notice. Behind, Niall and Liam seemed shocked too, shooting Louis odd and surprised glances.

"He's your... _friend?_ " Zayn said, some disgust laced through his tone.

"Yeh, he is, what's wrong with that?" Louis shot back confidently, tipping his head back in a way one would do to start a fight. He wasn't doing that, obviously, but he was almost gambling for an answer.

"Everything!" Zayn's reply was exasperated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. His hands were in front of him, gesturing to the surroundings as if they were 'everything'.

Niall stepped forward, unsurprisingly, his Irish accent thick with taunt, "well surely if he's your friend, we can meet him then?"

Louis' lips were shut in a thin, tight line. He knew what they were doing; he knew they were ridiculing his defence over the boy. They wanted him to react; they wanted him to fall down again and admit that it was all a joke.

But Louis couldn't do that anymore, he didn't want to. The two parts of his life were to stay separate; he'd decided that a while ago. Harry was one part of his life, the lads were the other. They weren't supposed to merge into one. If they went over to Harry, he knew the line would be broken and he knew it wouldn't bode well in Harry's case. It would overwhelm him, confuse him and stun him. The approach of such angered people would put him into shock, and he knew Zayn would probably jeer at him to talk.

They were all nice lads, he wouldn't be friends with them if they weren't, but they were teenage lads. They held grudges against people who didn't have the need to be discriminated against and they had a black and white view on life. Louis guessed that it was his open life which meant he was different; from the get-go he was vulnerable to a whole different life to them because of his sexuality. He'd seen the workings of people who weren't classed as 'normal' and he was used to them; he preferred them –to the exception of the three lads in front of him.

He was drawn to Harry because Harry wasn't the type of person who only thought and that was all. He delved into the depths of his mind and pulled out random theories and ideas which people like Zayn wouldn't do. He was open to different things.

He wanted them to get along, of course he did, but he knew it wasn't going to happen, especially if they met him like they were now. They were tetchy and frustrated and he knew Harry wouldn't be able to communicate with people of such a mood. He just wanted to protect the boy, to put it simply. He wanted to protect him from the thoughts he'd probably feel after the meeting. Zayn wouldn't hide his dislike for the boy, not in this state anyway, so Louis knew that Harry would constantly think afterwards about why they didn't like him and what he'd done wrong. Harry was happy; he didn't want to threaten that.

"No," Louis began. "You can't. I can't risk you hurting him, because I know you and I know you will. I'm not allowing you to do that. He's my friend, okay? I'm not going to stop being friends with him because you can't get your head around why I'd like him. You don't have to know him or pretend to be pally with him, so you can just drop it and forget that I even know him. Alright?"

Louis' words weren't particularly forceful or harsh, but they were stern and telling. It was obvious that Zayn was taken aback; Louis wasn't normally so passionate about a person. He could tell that Louis was being serious and he was on the edge of getting angry if Zayn took another step forward. Angry Louis was sassy, and nobody could ever really compete with the sassy remarks that would fly at them. Zayn would admit that he almost wanted to push Louis over the edge, but he knew it wasn't for the best. He was angry himself, more so at Louis lying to him than the fact he was friends with someone like Harry, but like Louis said, it wasn't his business. Zayn was only looking out for his best friend, but he knew that it was best he stayed clear of the situation for the time being.

"Fine, fine," he surrendered, holding up his hands and stepping backwards. Louis seemed to deflate in a sigh of relief as Zayn cast him a fleeting, half-hearted goodbye before turning away and walking off with his two other best friends.

Louis rubbed his hands over his face, threading his fingers through his hair. It went better than he’d thought. Zayn knew when to stop –Louis could give him that– when it concerned Louis. Louis knew that sometime he'd probably have to talk it out with the three of them, but at that moment he couldn't care less about that.

He swivelled on his feet, back around to Harry who was watching intently. His gaze was somewhat curious, but the frown on his face was evidence that he knew an argument had occurred. As Louis got closer, he didn't seem to have hurt on his features, and that factor made Louis feel a little lighter. Harry obviously hadn't heard the conversation, and Louis wanted to thank God for that. All he knew was that something wasn't right between Louis and the boy, but he didn't know what or why.

Louis slouched by the tree, seating himself close to the boy. Harry's face was turned to him, eyes asking what was wrong. Louis shook his head, telling him that it was nothing but also telling him not to bother asking, that he didn't want to delve into it. Harry's questioning gaze didn't cease though. It wasn't like he was desperate to know what had happened, he was just worried about the older boy and wanted to make sure he was okay.

_Are you okay?_

Harry scribbled down messily, showing Louis with concern in his eyes.

Louis smiled, throwing his arm over Harry's shoulder and letting Harry's head of curls rest in the crook of his neck. "You're here, aren't you? Of course I'm okay; I'm better than okay." 


	12. Saturday 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for forgetting to post Saturday 8. If you haven't read it, please go back a few chapters and read it. I'm such an idiot omg i'm so sorry

**Saturday 12**

Anne was trailing behind Harry as they made their way down the corridor, his steps being quick and too spritely for her to keep up with. Over one shoulder she had her handbag, and over the other she had Harry's satchel. The boy had been too –Anne couldn't find another word to describe it, even though it was too strong in an emotional sense to fit the situation– excited that the brown bag on the back seat had been left abandoned. He'd jumped out the car in such a hurry that he stumbled over his long feet, which seemed to set him back to normal speed.

Anne had just chuckled at him and shook her head in bafflement. There wasn't even any need for Harry to be so excited; nothing out of the ordinary was happening. It was a normal day: not a birthday, not a special event. No, it was a normal Saturday for Harry. For Anne, it was more of a wakeup call that there were only 4 weeks to go until the concert to end all her charity work in the Uni. But that didn't affect Harry at all, well, maybe a little. But after what she'd heard the week previous from the boy in an intimate chat, she knew the end of the event wouldn't make any difference.

So Anne had followed Harry into the Uni, motioning to her co-worker that she'd be over in a minute before chasing after Harry down the corridor. Maybe the stumble hadn't necessarily set Harry back into normal reality, but really, who knew what was going on in that boy's brain sometimes.

Harry stopped promptly in front of the door which was partially open. As Anne leant on the wall in silence, waiting for him to react, she could see that mischievous glint in his eyes that she hardly ever got to see.

Normally, a parent would be apprehensive to see that glint.  They'd sigh in discontent and wait impatiently for the child to just get their mischief over and done with so they could get to work on damage control as soon as possible. With Anne, however, she was the opposite. The years of his childhood weren't filled with pranks and bouts of tomfoolery. They were filled with reduced laughter and calm, precious moments together. Of course Harry had a joke; he wasn't void of humour. He actually had a rather dry sense of humour, and although nobody else really knew that, it did come to play in family outings together.

It was easier for Anne to see a more –not to sound like Harry was boring, dull and serious– fun side to Harry when they were out on trips. At home, he usually either locked himself in his room, stared at the telly for hours on end, or practically chained himself to the piano with the amount of playing he did. That wasn't to say he never spent time with the family in the house; he was just easier to socialise with in the park or on a picnic somewhere.

But that's getting off track. All those past years, Harry never had anyone apart from Gemma to pull pranks on or meddle with to devise such plans with. What with Gemma being a girl –a girly girl at that– she was never _that_ interested. Therefore, seeing Harry being able to openly express such naughtiness was a surprise. A good surprise though, a heartwarming surprise.

A lot of things had changed in the past three months – _three months? Anne couldn't believe it'd been that long since Harry had met Louis–_ , mischief and happiness included, all for the better.

Anne was brought back to the present time when Harry tapped on her arm, the glint still dancing in his eyes, and raised his finger to his lips. Anne would never say, but her heart would always break whenever Harry did something like that, something that was telling others to silence in a way anyone who could freely speak would do. Harry didn't have the choice to obey or disobey someone doing such a thing, so seeing him do it was even more painful.

The mother nodded in understanding and crept silently behind Harry as he pushed the door open wider and tiptoed over to Louis. Louis was tinkling on the piano aimlessly and unaware of the sneaking bodies. Anne hovered by the door, worried she'd mess the whole plan up by taking further steps. She looked on as Harry's hands lingered over Louis' oblivious shoulders for a few seconds, before plummeting down on them rapidly. Louis jumped in shock and let out a girlish squeal through his mouth which hung agape, matching his widened eyes, both in turn sending Harry in fit of cackling laughter.

Anne's heart was warming at a rapid pace as she let Harry's laugh filter though her ears. She couldn't prevent the large grin settling on her lips which was either from Louis' reaction to Harry or Harry's to the older boy. Of course she had heard Harry laugh before, but she could almost feel the utter admiration and happiness that was strung through every note which passed through his lips.

With Louis' laughter combined, the two noises seemed to fit so perfectly. Harry's laugh was deep, but still had that edge to make it young and innocent. Louis' laugh was rather high pitched, maybe nasally at times, but it wasn't piercingly high that it was annoying. The two laughs seemed to balance each other out. It was as if they each told a story singularly and then together they told a whole new story of the both of them.

Harry's laugh was new and refreshing.

Louis' laugh was confident and wholesome.

Both of their laughs were happiness.

The two settled down on the stool together, Harry on the left and Louis on the right. Anne almost didn't want to break their little bubble by announcing her presence, but she couldn't have just snuck off without saying a quick farewell to Harry.

She padded over to them, Harry spotting her first. He smiled genuinely, along with so much hope and content in his eyes that Anne wanted to take a snapshot to keep forever. Wordlessly, she patted his shoulder encouragingly and dropped his bag behind the stool. She muttered a quiet 'see you later' to Louis who smiled back with a widened grin, and slowly made her way out of the room. Their banter resumed as soon as she was walking away, and she couldn't resist pausing by the door, hidden from sight, to peer at the pair for a few minutes longer.

She wasn't exactly listening to what they were saying; no, her thoughts led her elsewhere. Seeing them sitting so close, Harry's hands holding over Louis' to guide them around the piano and Harry's eyes looking at Louis with that feeling he had discussed with her, Anne's thoughts were cast back to that night a week ago.

 

_It wasn't often that Anne had the chance to sit on the sofa with Harry, thick duvet covering their bodies, cups of hot lemonade cradled between their hands –Harry not liking hot chocolate was just so awkward sometimes– and their bodies facing each other, ready to talk. They were close, almost like best friends. Anne was around Harry as much as she could be, bar school, so she knew that when Harry needed to talk, then he'd come to her. She'd been waiting for a talk for a good few weeks, but didn't want to push her son or else he'd refuse to at all. Finally though, after all that waiting, she felt that familiar tug on her sleeve that Harry always did when he wanted to talk to her about something deeper than trivial banter._

_Harry looked tentative and a little hesitant as he sipped on his hot beverage. They weren't speaking just then, just relaxing into the calm atmosphere that Anne was making sure was there. Serious talks were ones that Anne never wanted Harry to be uncomfortable during, so she made sure that they were as easy as possible for him to engage in._

_Once their drinks were finished and placed on the coffee table in front, Anne nudged Harry who seemed to have lost himself in a trance. She spoke gently to him, not putting any pressure in her tone at all, "Hey, Harry, you wanna talk?"_

_He blushed a little as he was pulled from his daze, and fumbled around the duvet for the thick black pen. They'd invested a long time ago in a whiteboard for Harry because it was so much easier to use, especially in times when Harry needed to reply quickly._

_He nodded in response, smiling gratefully towards her. He pulled the cap of the pen off between his lips, spitting it out onto the duvet recklessly, and put his pen onto the board. Once he'd done so, he couldn't seem to be able to move it. He was frozen still. Anne watched as he breathed deeply in and out, his chest contracting and relaxing evenly. His green eyes were flickering around the blank board as if searching for the answer. After deliberating in his mind, his eyes fluttered up to Anne's where he winced as if to say 'I don't know how to say it' or 'I don't know where to start'._

_"Let's start with the general topic, yeh? Tell me what we're talking about and we'll go from there," Anne's tone wasn't patronising in the slightest to Harry. It was caring, that was all._

_Harry slowly moved the pen over the board, causing a squeak to sound from the action._

**Louis**

_'Of course' Anne thought. She was somewhat expecting it to be about the older boy. Everything seemed to be about him nowadays, not that Anne was complaining though. She was very fond of the boy and he made her boy happy, so that was all that mattered._

_"What about him, hun?" She asked._

**I have this...feeling that I get**

_Anne nodded cautiously, not knowing where the conversation was going. Her eyes were wide and curious as she spoke, "and what feeling is this? Can you describe it for me?"_

_Harry looked at battle with himself. He couldn't seem to form coherent words that strung together in his head to make a viable sentence to then reiterate to Anne. He was gnawing on his bottom lip in frustration, writing words but then rubbing them out when he realised that they weren't right. Harry looked up at his mother with confusion in his eyes. He obviously didn't know what the feeling was, and he couldn't even describe it properly._

_"Okay, when do you get this feeling?" Anne asked softly. She didn't want this to sound like a counselling session, so she –with some apprehension– took Harry's hand in hers and stroked the pale skin a little. Harry didn't flinch at the touch, so he obviously must've let his guard down the second he tugged on her sleeve._

**Whenever I'm around him**

_"Right. Is it a good feeling? Or a bad feeling?"_

_Harry looked at her in with his eyes swimming with insecurity. Evidently he was unsure on the answer, and it became obvious to Anne that that was why Harry wanted to talk. He didn't know what the feeling was, if he should've been having it, and why he was having it. Anne knew in the back of her mind what it was, but she was going to let Harry figure it out himself._

_"Do you feel better when you feel it? Do you feel happy?"_

**Yeh...I think I do**

_"Do you only get it around Lou?"_

_Harry seemed to be shocked and confused when Anne called Louis using his nickname, and he blinked heavily at her. Soon enough though, he was writing back on the board and the slip up buried deep in his brain._

**Yeh. I've never had it around anyone else before, and I only get it with him now, too. I didn't used to have it, when we first met and stuff, it's just been recently**

_Anne sat in thought for a few minutes, while Harry played with a loose thread on the duvet, anticipating her verdict. Anne didn't want to push her thoughts onto him, but it was pretty clear what it was. Yes, she wanted Harry to realise it on his own, but he couldn't seem to do that. A part of Anne was a little sad that he couldn't do it on his own, that he'd never had the experience before to know the feeling. But then again, at least he was feeling it now, so that's what made Anne smile at him encouragingly._

_"Harry, I don't want you to freak out, okay?" She started, and Harry's eyes were suddenly struck with fear. "Oh, no no, sweetheart, it's nothing bad! Don't worry!" she corrected, and the terror seemed to die down a little._

_"I think...I think that you like him."_

_Anne could see the cogs turning in Harry's brain, slowly but surely. His eyes were searching the wall behind her, flickering around as he tried to find the understanding he needed. It was a simple enough statement, but the words had to click into place first for Harry to realise the impact of them. He was a clever boy; he'd excelled in school and was predicted to get A* in practically every subject, but emotional knowledge was his downfall. He was never that confident to ask about certain feelings; he wanted to be independent and figure them out on his own. But sometimes he couldn't do that, and he needed Anne's prompting to help._

_Anne watched as realisation seemed to spread over the green of Harry's eyes. It speckled over the jade spots and embraced the flecks of gold with its whole heart. Harry's eyes widened but the rest of his face stayed rather unemotionally affected. His eyes told the trials and tribulations that were running through his mind as he tried to process the truth in the statement._

_They darted over to Anne, and she saw the mixed emotions he was feeling. His face had slackened into a small, worried grimace, and his eyebrows furrowed anxiously. Anne made sure that she expressed nothing but support and understanding as he looked at her for help. He blindly patted for the pen and once he found it, he broke his glance to her and looked down at the board as he wrote:_

**What do I do?**

_Anne felt like her heart was about to lurch out of her chest. His eyes were so wide and innocent as he looked up at her, and although Harry would deny it if it were ever brought up –not that it would be– but Anne was almost positive that there was film of clear lining his eyes, threatening to fall._

_"Aw, sweetheart, come here," she said warmly, pushing the duvet back a bit and holding her arms out. Harry shuffled around and crawled into her arms, letting her wrap her arms around him and lean his head on her chest._

_"I want you to remember this, okay? Liking Louis is nothing bad, not at all. There isn't anything wrong with it in any way, and there isn't any need to do anything about it. Just because you've realised that you like him differently to what you would a friend, that doesn't change anything. You still love him as a friend so nothing has changed there, and you probably aren't_ in _love with him." Harry shook his head in her chest, agreeing with her. "So nothing has changed with that either. It's a small little increase in emotion that doesn't change much at all. You've been feeling this way for a while, yeh? Yeh, so you don't need to act any differently. I don't want you to worry about this, love, because it's just natural. Everyone gets these feelings in their life, it just so happens that your first time is now. And y'know what? I think Louis is the best person for you to feel like this with, because he cares for you so so much already and I'm sure that one day, if not already, he'll realise that he likes you the same way too."_

_Harry paused for a few moments to let the words sink in, and then looked up to his mother as if to ask 'you really think that?'_

_"How can he not? You two are perfect together as friends, so I'm sure that you'll be perfect together as a couple."_

_Harry grabbed his board and scribbled down another reply:_

**So if we did get together, then you'd be alright with that?**

_"Of course I would, H! I love Louis to pieces; I'd be honoured to call him my son's boyfriend!" Harry seemed happy with this confirmation, and let a smile gather on his lips. Anne didn't want to wipe it off, it was an unexpected expression since he seemed so vulnerable moments previously, but she had to make sure that Harry understood everything._

_"I...I don't want you getting too invested in this, though. Yes, I think you two would be perfect together and I said that he'll eventually realise that he likes you back, but I don't know that 100%. I don't know what's going on inside his head, so don't get your hopes up for something that might never happen. I know it sounds mean, but I just don't want you getting hurt, H."_

**Of course I won't, Mum. I mean, I don't expect him to like me back at all… He'd never like someone like me anyway. But it's nice feeling this way though, y'know? I'll try not to get in too deep...but you'll be there if I do, right?**

_"Certainly, of course I'll be there for you. Whenever you need to talk, even to talk about the slightest thing, you come to me straight away, yeh? Don't harbour those feelings inside for too long, or else they might turn sour and I_ want _to help you, H, I want you to always be as happy as you are now."_

**Thank you, Mum. I love you**

_With teary eyes after rereading the small writing over and over again, Anne pressed a kiss onto Harry's forehead, replying with a choked "I love you too, H, I love you too."_

So there Anne was, watching as her son interacted so joyfully with the boy he liked. He seemed truly happy, regardless of the fact that he had no clue whether the feelings were returned. Anne felt a little bit ashamed, actually, over the fact she hadn't noticed sooner. Those adoring eyes were so familiar; they'd been there for a while. They hadn't been there since the start though, she knew that. After all, Harry didn't have enough confidence to even let himself subconsciously start to like the boy until he was secure in their friendship.

Somewhere in the back of Anne's mind she knew that, although love was supposed to be a trodden path with bumps and scratches, the start of their relationship was going to defy that and be simply perfect. She couldn't imagine any love-filled pining being only at one end rather than both; the only possibility would be both of them wanting each other.

Louis was a very sociable and friendly lad, but his friendship with Harry was much deeper than that. Although one could say that their friendship was just so strong that his caring was only in a platonic form, Anne could tell that there was something there, whether Louis knew it yet or not. Harry knew his feelings now, and he could wait if need be because he didn't know what would happen after; he didn't know the course of a relationship. Anne wasn't sure if Louis would be so cautious, if he would wait to cement his feelings before acting upon them. But either way, as long as they got together and Harry was happy, that was all that needed to happen.

There was always the worry that Louis would hurt Harry, and Harry would never be able to recover. He took things to heart more than he let on, and one slight slip up could cost him the whole three months of becoming a happier person. But Anne knew that Harry had, during the days after their talk, considered everything. If Harry trusted Louis, then Anne would trust him too.

With one last glance over to the boys who were totally immersed in their own little world, Anne smiled softly and left the two to get on with their afternoon.

 

"Haz, I really can't be arsed to even play right now," Louis sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. It had been around half an hour since Harry had arrived and even the small tinkling on the piano was tiring Louis out. It wasn't like the noise was atrocious and giving him a pounding headache, he was just incredibly tired and he couldn't be bothered to concentrate on the ivory keys. He knew that if he actually did play, his tiredness would probably pass, but he didn't want to force the music out of him. Playing with Harry was easy, and he didn't want to change that even just for a few minutes by forcing his hands to clunk the keys.

Harry looked over at him in question, his eyes curious as to why Louis didn't want to play. His eyes weren't evoking hurt or anything of the similar; they were just purely wondering why Louis didn't want to take part in their weekly activity.

"I'm just...I wish I had a better excuse, but I'm just proper knackered," Louis admitted with a dry chuckle. He looked over at Harry, whose face had a judging eyebrow raise set upon it and a purse of the lips.

"What?! Why are you looking at me like that?!" Louis exclaimed in a flurry.

Harry scrambled for the pen and paper lying aimlessly on the piano top, and scribbled on it quickly as not to lose his judgemental exterior:

_Someone get in a bit late last night, did they? Or was it the morning? Walk of shame?_

Harry was teasing him, no bitterness in his expression. He was teasing Louis over the fact he thought that Louis had been out the night previous and scored.

Louis liked the fact Harry was comfortable to do such a thing with him, especially over a matter which wasn't innocent in the slightest. The fact that Harry was comfortable with his past, and present, escapades made Louis so very relieved. He could have genuine, teenage-boy banter with him, like he would with anyone else. It was just another piece to the puzzle of a normal relationship.

"No, I didn't actually! I didn't even leave the house! I was set on having an early night, but then Zayn, Liam and Niall all came over with beer and pizza and I just really couldn't resist. We ended up playing on the Xbox for ages, and then had a movie marathon. Well, it wasn't really a marathon because we fell asleep two hours into it, but still, it was like 4 in the morning when we nodded off so you can't really blame me."

Harry looked at him sceptically, checking out whether he was lying or not. It seemed Louis was telling the truth, and the bags under his eyes were evidence of his late night. Regardless of them, his face did seem quite bright, so he definitely wasn't hung over. Harry nodded slowly, telling Louis that he believed him, before picking up the pen again and writing once more:

_Well what do you want to do then? I mean it's kinda wet outside so I don't want to go back out there, and there isn't anything other than a piano in this room, and that's what you don't want to do so..._

Louis sat in thought for a few moments, before speaking in a questioning tone. "We could talk?" His shoulders were raised in a shrug and his lips were pressed together to give his speech a lighter tone so that Harry could disagree with his suggestion if he wanted to.

Harry didn't disagree though; he, in fact, nodded enthusiastically with a bright smile. It was the simple things which pleased Harry. A suggestion to just talk brightened him up immediately.

"I feel like I need to face you to talk..." Louis muttered, drumming his fingers on his chin as he thought. As the idea sprung into his head, he threw his leg over the back of the stool so each of his legs were hanging from both sides. "C'mon, swivel around so I can see you. You can just put the piano lid down and lean sideways to write," Louis instructed. Harry obliged and carefully lowered the lid that covered the keys. He then awkwardly lifted his leg, his foot nearly kicking Louis in the face his leg was so long, and settled it so he was straddling the seat like Louis, opposite him.

"So, what you want to talk about, stud?- okay, I have no clue why I just did a Sandy impression, it isn't even a line from the film, but let's just pretend I never did that and move on..." Louis' cheeks flared after he realised that he'd just done said impression, and he corrected himself instantly. That didn't stop Harry laughing loudly at it, but honestly, Louis didn't mind that he'd made a fool out of himself if he got that reaction.

_Uhm...well leading on from why you're so tired, can you tell me about your friends?_

Well, that was a tricky topic.

Louis wasn't sure what to say about them. Obviously he wasn't going to reveal their dislike towards the boy because he'd never tell Harry something so irrelevantly ignorant, but it was difficult to pick out certain parts to tell Harry. He didn't want to come across as boasting. Harry hadn't had any friends before; as much as it broke Louis' heart to say it, he hadn't. So he didn't want it to come across as rubbing it in the boy's face as he explained all the amazing qualities and lifelong friendship he had with the boys.

"What d'you want to know?"

_Were they the ones at the park last week?_

Louis gulped, "Yeh, that was them. Zayn's the one with the quiff, the mysterious 'bad boy' one. Niall's the one with the bright blonde mop of hair. And Liam's the one who tends to hang back a bit, with the dusty brown hair."

_You looked like you were arguing with them...are you guys alright?_

"Y-yeh, we're fine now. It was nothing serious, nothing a beer couldn't solve. They're pretty straight forward guys; they don't really think much else than in black and white. I know sometimes that isn't the best, but they're good guys, regardless of the petty arguments we get in. They'll always be my best friends."

_They seem like sound lads. I'd like to have people like that, someone who'll never leave me and who knows me better than anyone else..._

Harry's expression wasn't exactly sorrowful or remorseful, but it wasn't overly cheery or happy either. His face was almost void of emotion, like the topic wasn't worth the hassle of showing how he felt towards it. It obviously meant something to him, but he didn't want to come across as caring about something as emotionally invested as that.

"They are..." Louis didn't know how to comment on Harry's admittance. He wanted to be tactile in his words, but he didn't want to come across as forcing his opinion onto Harry. In the end, he just turned to honesty: "I'd like to think that I'm like that though...like for you. I'm not going to leave you, and I know I don't know you better than your family, but I know you pretty well, right?"

Harry let out a soft sigh as he replied on the paper:

_Well yeh, I'd like to think that, but I don't know you like they know you, do I?_

Louis pondered for a minute or so. Obviously the lads knew him better than anyone, probably better than his own mother. He and Zayn had been attached at the hip for practically all their lives. He'd told the boy everything about him, and vice versa. So no, Harry didn't know him like that just yet. But that wasn't to say he couldn't know everything about him in the future. Louis was sure that as long as Harry wanted him, he'd be there to learn everything about the boy and he'd tell Harry everything he wanted to know.

In some way, Harry did know Louis in a different want to the lads. He didn't fancy them; he never had and never would fancy them. He didn't get those irritatingly blissful butterflies in his stomach when he was with them, nor did he want to lock his hands with them like he did with Harry's long fingers. Harry knew the more caring and delicate side of him, as well as the boisterous side.

"Well...I mean, I've known them all my life, and we've only known each other three months, so you can't have picked up everything that quickly. But you know a _lot_ about me, andI know a _lot_ about you, even in that short time frame," Louis stated. He paused for a second or so, his voice softening into a quiet tone and his head ducking as he spoke, “And anyway, you do know a different side to me that they don't know..."

Harry's face was plastered in confusion. He was clearly unsure on what Louis was inferring in the latter part of his speech. Louis was kind of glad that he hadn't given himself away. He didn't mean to say the extra sentence, but his reply didn't seem adequate enough and it just slipped out. The main reason he wasn't telling Harry that he liked him in _that_ way was because he didn't want to scare him off. But he'd just let it slip through and the instant panic had set in. Of course he'd love to become a couple and be with Harry in that way, and the sentence wasn't even that giving, but the worry was still there, lying low in his chest.

_How?_

"It's just a different side, I guess..." Louis said vaguely. The older boy didn't mind getting personal with Harry, not in the slightest, but when it concerned the curly haired boy himself, he didn't want say anything too private or else Harry might freak out.

Harry sat trying to decipher what Louis was saying, but he was still totally unaware. His eyebrows had furrowed once more, and he even had a light blush dusting over his cheeks because he felt slightly stupid for not understanding.

_I just don't understand...I don't know anything they don't, like you're the same with them as you are with me, right?_

"But you're different, Haz! You're... _Harry._ And they're Zayn, Liam and Niall and I feel totally different about you to how I do with them!" Louis blurted out. His hands were gesturing wildly as he tried to explain his words.

Harry looked at him with confusion drenched eyes, and a slight smirk on his lips at the older boy's babbling. Louis wasn't making any sense, evidently, to the boy and he was just repeating himself over and over again.

_What's the difference though? I don't get what the difference you feel is! Is it even a good difference?_

"I...well, yeh of cour- in some way, yeh it is..but in a tiny bit- no, well yeh..I...just- Argh I can't...just, y'know when you've got a boyfriend? That feeling?"

Harry froze, visibly. His head was cast downwards and his shoulders were hunched up instantly. Louis couldn't see Harry's eyes, but he presumed they'd be tight shut.  His left hand was bunched into a ball, fisting his trouser leg tightly. His head was shaking from side to side, but Louis didn't know whether that was in answer to his stumbling speech or whether it was just another part of his reaction.

"Hey, babe, what's wrong?" Louis said softly, using a hooked finger to find Harry's chin and pull his face up. Harry's eyes opened slowly from being closed, and he shook his head more slowly.

It took Louis a moment to realise that he was answering his question from before, and that realisation struck through to his heart. Harry's expression seemed like there was pain threaded through each speck in his eye. He looked upset and embarrassed over his truthful answer. Louis just wanted to gather him in the biggest hug he could, because seeing Harry as hurt as he was made his heart crack straight down the middle.

"Y-you don't know that feeling?" He asked gently in his quiet tone. His finger was still poised under Harry's chin, keeping him from hiding himself away again.

Harry scoffed audibly and pulled his face off of Louis' finger. He had a grimacing smirk on his lips as he shook his head, like the answer to Louis' question was the most obvious answer in the world. He snatched the pen from the piano lid and scratched on the paper in an almost furious manner.

_Well obviously, I'm as far away from that feeling as you can get._

"What d'you mean?" Louis asked, practically in a whisper. The tension in the room had built from the happy atmosphere to a thick air of anguish.

_I haven't even been kissed before_

It was when, after Louis had read over the words many a time, Harry had let out a humourless sigh through his smirking lips which weren't powered by mischief or laughter, that Louis felt the words sink into his skin. With Harry's eyes turning glassier by the second, and the realism of the words settling into his heart, Louis could tell that this subject wasn't just skin deep for Harry. He seemed to actually be affected by the fact he'd never been kissed, and the simplicity of that made Louis' throat close up.

It's the way he said 'haven't _even_ been kissed'. The word 'even' made it sound like it was the easiest thing on Earth, and he couldn't even achieve that. It was like it was at the bottom of the pile, the first hurdle, and he hadn't been able to clamber over it to get to further experiences. Pairing that with the way Harry was reacting, Harry looked almost desperate. Not in that way, not in the clingy way where he was desperate to be kissed for the sake of it. No, he seemed desperate for someone to understand. Someone to care.

"Harry, don't get upset, please," Louis said as Harry's glossy eyes washed over his face to look for something to react to. Louis replaced his hand under Harry's chin again, rubbing his thumb on the smooth skin of Harry's cheek soothingly.

Harry looked at him and shrugged, as if to say _'I can't help it'._

"Talk to me about it, please. I don't like seeing you like this," Louis said sincerely. Harry closed his eyes slowly and picked up the pen. Louis stopped his finger from washing over the pale skin and dropped his hand so Harry could write easier.

_You won't understand though..._

"I'll try. At least let me try and understand, because I really want to," Harry's eyes flickered up from staring down at the paper and up to Louis' eyes. It was just a flash, but it was enough for Harry to know that Louis meant what he said. Louis wanted to know and he wanted to understand what Harry was feeling; he cared enough to want to make it better for him, and if letting Harry explain was the way to do that, then he'd sit for days just listening.

Harry nodded a little and wrote a little more onto the page.

_This might take a while, and it's pretty pathetic, are you sure? I don't want to be a burden and put all my shitty problems onto you..._

"Seriously Harry, I _want_ to listen to you. You will never, ever be a burden to me, got it? And a problem is never pathetic if it hurts someone. If it's important to you, then it's important to me."

 

_Okay...right...I don't really know where to start. I feel so stupid writing this, like, to other people it isn't anything special and it doesn't affect them. Some people aren't bothered at all; they think a kiss is just another form of affection. But like...it means something to me because I don't get any affection at all. I don't even let people touch me. I can't help it though, it's what I do. I don't do it on purpose but it makes me uncomfortable if it's someone I don't know. I'm going to have to find someone who I really know and I'm comfortable doing normal things with first, to then even consider kissing them. It sounds impatient, but that will take forever and from waiting this long, I don't know how long I can wait._

_I mean, yeh, I've probably brought it on myself anyway because of just how I am, but it's hard to accept that nobody wants you to even do something that they pass off as a simple action._

_It hurts me. It sounds pathetic, like what, not having someone kiss you hurts you? I know, I know there are so many other problems in the world. People are dying for fucks sake, and I'm here complaining and wallowing in self-pity that nobody cares enough to kiss me. But this is the biggest problem I have, and it's the one that I concentrate on. I know the fact I can't speak is probably one of my biggest problems too, but I'm used to that. I never used to care that I hadn't been with someone in that way until a few years ago. And I'm at the age where people will have had their first boyfriends and girlfriends, and I'm even legal now so it shows that people are supposed to have sex now. And I can't even get a kiss. A stupid fucking kiss._

_It's when I see people together. They look so fucking happy and I just want to feel an ounce of that happiness. They must feel properly happy inside because they know that someone likes them for who they are. They like how they look and they like who they are inside. They think they're pretty, they think they're gorgeous. And they potentially want to be with them for the rest of their life. Why can't someone like me like that?_

_It's when you hear the girls gossiping about having sex, passing it off as nothing, it feels like they're directing it at you. Like they're boasting and mocking the fact you haven't even been kissed. Something they probably did when they were eleven or something._

_It makes me feel so...immature. Like, they've got so much more experience. They've been kissed and they've done other stuff, stuff that I can only fantasise over because I can't even get past the first hurdle._

_I'm scared. I'm scared that nobody is ever going to love me like that. I'm scared that I'm going to be alone all my life. Because really, who is going to love a mute? They'll see me as stupid and childish because I won't have a fucking clue what to do to kiss them. They'll see my inexperience and leave me feeling worse than I already do. But anyway, it's not like anyone is actually going to like me enough to even consider kissing me anyway._

_Some people don't give a fuck about kissing. They'd kiss anyone. And no offence, but you're one of those people. I don't hate you for it, like I don't even care. I'm just saying that to most people, they're so used to it that it isn't anything to bother with. It's just something petty. To me, it's a big deal. It shows a lot of emotion and it's something you'd do with someone you really like to show them how much you care. But most people don't care about the people they're kissing._

_But they're the ones who are confident with who they are, they're the ones who have been told that they're beautiful or gorgeous, or even hot or fit. They're the ones who've been loved._

_It's just… If it's so fucking simple, and it's such a small deal, then how come I haven't been kissed?_

_Am I that ugly?_

_Am I that awkward?_

_Am I that fucked up?_

_Am I that much of a freak?_

_Am I that unlovable that nobody can even take pity to kiss me?_

 

Harry couldn't deny the huge, choking lump in his throat, nor could he deny the lining of tears which filled his eyes. He felt pathetic. He felt stupid. He'd never told anyone how he felt about the subject; it was one he vowed to keep bottled up inside him for as long as he lived. But suddenly, as Louis' cerulean eyes looked at him, the cork was popped out of that tightly shut bottle and he was spilling his emotions onto the victim sheet of paper. His words filled practically the whole sheet but it still didn't look enough. Those vile emotions which brought him down so much could only fill up such a small space.

He knew Louis would be considerate and he wouldn't laugh at him, but there was always a part of him which was scared that Louis would find him too insecure and would want to leave him all alone, back to how he was.

Because that's what Harry was: insecure. He hadn't had anyone to tell him that he was perfect the way he was, and although he wasn't about to change himself any time soon, he didn't feel comfortable with nobody caring. Of course his Mum had told him that, and so had his family, but you don't take those kinds of compliments seriously from family because they mean it in a total different way.

Harry just wanted to be loved.

He was scared to look up and watch Louis' reactions whilst reading his words. He didn't want to see the face he made when he realised how pathetic Harry was.

Eventually, Harry heard Louis shuffle forward on the stool. Without speaking, Louis readjusted himself so he was sitting cross-legged on the seat and then lifted Harry's knees to direct him to do the same. Harry arranged himself to mirror Louis, but still didn't glance up at his face. The paper was lying between their laps, the writing glaring up at Harry in black streaks.

Their knees were touching as they sat, and Harry thought his were going to blister with burns from the heat that the touch produced. He still wasn't accustomed to Louis' touches, and maybe with the new found revelation that he liked the boy, the touches weren't ever going to feel as a normal friend’s would.

When both of Louis' hands cupped Harry's chin to lift it up, Harry put all his strength –which wasn't much because he was rather emotional– in keeping his face out of sight. He pushed down on the hands, but Louis pushed up, and he couldn't prevail as the boy muttered a quiet "C'mon Harry, look at me."

Harry's eyes danced over Louis' face, searching for at least a smidgen of amusement at his expense. Alas, he found none. He took in Louis' clouded eyes and realised that, no, Louis was never going to be amused by it. He looked maybe as hurt as Harry, but obviously not in that sense. He seemed to have taken the words to heart; it looked like he understood.

"I- I want you to listen to me, okay? Don't interrupt me, don't disagree or deny anything, just listen."

Harry nodded, not sure on where the conversation was going. Louis' words came out thick, and he coughed to rid himself of the lump clogging his throat.

"You...fuck, Harry. You don't realise how beautiful you really are, do you? I've...I've never seen someone who is so insecure when they look like you do. There's nothing in the slightest which sets you apart negatively from the rest. Actually, you are set apart from the rest, but in a good way, because you're the most special person I've ever met. Forget the fact that you can't speak, forget the fact that yeh, maybe you don't like that much physical contact, and forget the fact that haven't kissed anyone; none of that matters. You, Haz, are perfect. Your looks on the outside are just as perfect as your personality on the inside. You've got these gorgeous green eyes, which I'm surprised nobody else has been lost in them like I have. You've got that big mop of hair that's as soft as anything. You're just _you._ People are idiots not to have kissed you, they really are."

Harry's heart was stuttering in his chest. His breathing was somewhat laboured, but he hid it by breathing in and out through his nose as he bit his lip. He was sure his eyes were wide as they stared directly at Louis. He didn't know how to express himself when those words had been said to him.

Nobody had ever said anything of such worth before, let alone anything so kind. The words were practically unbelievable to Harry. He couldn't take such huge compliments on board when he'd never had any small compliments before. Hearing them come from Louis made them that bit more special. Louis was the boy that he liked, and although the compliments didn't mean that Louis liked him back, they were still from the boy he admired so that was all that mattered.

Louis had just called Harry beautiful.

Harry couldn't even begin to describe how that made him feel.

He blindly reached for the pen and pulled the paper to rest on his knee to write again. Louis' hands crumbled from Harry's face, and suddenly the skin where they lay felt unusually cold.

_I...nobody has ever said anything like that to me before..._

"I know, Harry, and it's a travesty that they haven't. Because you deserve those words to be said to you a million times over, you really do."

Harry's heart fluttered again, and he felt that bundle of butterflies swarm in his stomach.

_I just want it to be special. I wish I was special enough for someone to like me like that, and to want to love me and to want to tell me the kind of thing you just said but all the time..._

"Shit, Harry, you are special. You don't realise it, but you really are. Nobody is as special as you, I swear to you. I...I just wish I was special enough for _you_..."

Special enough for him? Harry was baffled. Of course Louis was special, what was he going on about? If anyone, it was Harry who wasn't special enough for Louis, he was a nobody and he certainly wasn't anything extraordinary.

_What do you mean you're not special enough for me?_

Louis sighed and ran had hand over his face in what Harry suspected to be anguish. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, noises stuttering out but being stopped by his mouth snapping shut soon after they emerged. The older boy squeezed his eyes together as he went to speak, like he was telling a secret regardless of the fact he knew he shouldn't have been:

"I..I really like you, Harry. Like I really _like_ likeyou, more than I should. And I hate it because I don't deserve you in the slightest. I wish I did deserve you because I want to fall in love with you more than anything, and I want to be your first kiss, I really do, but I can't take that away from you when you don't even like me like that, and when I don't deserve to do that either because you need someone special to take that away from you. And I'm not special enough."

Harry thought he was going to start hyperventilating as Louis spoke. There was no way that Louis was lying, that thought had passed through Harry's mind many a time in the few seconds pause after Louis had spoken. His eyes were always the giveaway as to whether he was lying, joking, being sincere; whichever emotion he was using, his eyes would show it. So when Harry saw the pure honesty and the tinges of pain in those blue depths, he thought his heart was going to burst.

His mind was racing at a hundred miles per hour, 'Louis likes me' circulating his brain faster than anything could. He didn't understand how it was possible. Louis liked him? Harry? The boy who couldn't speak at all? It just wasn't possible.

As if sensing Harry's –somewhat– breakdown, Louis quickly spoke out: "God, I'm so sorry Harry. I get it, you don't like me. Fuck, I'm so stupid. Please don't let this come between us, please I really love being your friend and I don't know what I'd do if you hated me and-"

Harry cut off Louis' babbling by showing the added writing he quickly scribbled onto the page as Louis tried to do damage control. Harry seemed to have gotten his mind in check as Louis kept talking. Well, as best as he could anyway, and it was a shocking revelation.

_You actually mean that?_

"100%. I'm sorry if you're freaked out by this and I swear I won't ever bring it up again if you tell me to just back the fuck off if you don't like me that way. I totally get it, I mean-"

_You talk a lot, don't you?_

Harry's small attempt at humour didn't earn a chuckle from Louis, although it did cause him to stop his incessant babbling.

_Can you not babble and maybe just answer me simply? This is kinda a lot to get my head around..._

_So, you like me? In that way?_

"Yes. More than you can imagine. I mean, I'm not in love with you but I like- oops, sorry," Louis winced as he remembered the order to stop babbling, but it seemed like his mouth just wanted to keep running off with itself.

_Like in the way that I like you?_

"Uh...well it depends on how you like me?" Louis tone curled up in pitch at the end as he turned his statement into a question.

_Well...I think I like like you..._

Harry was blushing as he wrote down the words, and he was flushed bright scarlet as he showed Louis them. Maybe it was Harry's heart shaped eyes which made him think that Louis' eyes lit up at the statement, but he was sure that Louis did definitely break into a disbelieving grin that stretched from ear to ear.

"You...you do?"

_Yeh...I do..kinda a lot..._

"W-wow. Okay...I don't even know what to say..."

_...So if we both like each other like that, and I would like it if you kissed me, would you?_

Harry watched as Louis froze. He stared at Harry for seconds, face lacking in emotion, before his expression relaxed into an unsure form.

"I...I can't take that away from you though, Haz. I don't deserve to be the one to take something so special from you..." It was obvious that Louis wanted to; the pining in his eyes was obvious. But something in his mind was holding him back.

_Lou, please. I don't want anyone else to be my first kiss except you..._

After momentarily pausing to deliberate his decision, Louis' eyes were bright and wide, staring into Harry's. This time, Harry didn't let his eyes stray from the blue pools and kept them connected with the boy's. He loved looking in Louis' eyes, and this time they were brighter than they had ever been. He could see how Louis was biting his lip to hold back a beaming smile, but he just concentrated on the fact that Louis looked genuinely happy, and that it was all because of him.

Harry’s heart was pounding in his chest and the nerves were wracking his bones more than he could imagine. Adrenaline was high but that didn't stop the worry of him doing something wrong flood his brain. He couldn't mess this up, he just _couldn't._

Louis was inching forward slowly, one of his hands reaching out to cup Harry's chin, while the other cradled the back of his neck. Harry's breathing was heavy; he couldn't suppress it. As their faces were mere inches apart, Louis whispered softly, "don't be scared, Harry."

Harry wanted to tell him that he wasn't scared, he was just worried. That he just wanted it to be perfect. That he was more excited than anything else, eagerly anticipating the perfect boy's lips to be on his, waiting for soft lips to touch his for the first time.

It seemed a bit of a blur, but at the same time it was perfectly simple. Louis' eyes started to close slowly, so Harry let his flutter shut. He could feel Louis moving closer, so he did too, just until he could practically feel the lips on his. They were so close, millimetres away; Harry's mind was shutting down from the thrill.

And then they touched.

They didn't move; they just stayed still. Louis' lips pressed against his; not too hard but not too light.

Just right.

Their lips were both pursed out, and as tempting as it was to move his lips in experimentation, Harry kept them still because he liked the simplicity.

For the ten seconds that they were there, Harry couldn't describe his feelings. It was like everything was coated in _louislouislouis_ and _lipslipslips._

With reluctance, Louis pulled away. Harry dragged his lips forward as the older boy was doing so, as to keep the touch for as long as he could, but soon enough he gave in and let them part. Once they had pulled apart, Louis rested his forehead on Harry's. He opened his eyes to see the bright greens shining back at him, dancing with joy.

Whispering, Louis spoke, "So...Harry Styles, will you be my boyfriend?"

Harry's heart was pounding in his chest so hard he could hear it in his ears. It was beating and beating faster than he thought it could. His hands were shaking as he put the pen to the paper.

_Definitely_


	13. Saturday 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry i'm terrible at this updating business, i keep forgetting, oops

**Saturday 13**

_From: Harry (19:02)_

_I have some bad news :( xxx_

_From: Louis (19:03)_

_What's up? :( xxxx_

_From: Harry (19:05)_

_Supposedly my Mum thought it'd be totally fine to just spring an impromptu beach trip tomorrow on me. So now I can't go tomorrow :( xxx_

_From: Louis (19:07)_

_Seriously? Damn, I was really looking forward to seeing you too :( xxxx_

_From: Louis (19:07)_

_And btw, the fact you said 'impromptu' in a text is adorable xxxx_

_From: Harry (19:08)_

_I know right? But I couldn't exactly say no because...well you know what she's like. xxx_

_From: Harry (19:08)_

_And I really don't see how that was adorable either, just saying xxx_

_From: Louis (19:10)_

_Well of course, it'll be nice anyway. You need to get some sun on that pale skin of yours! At least one of us will get a tan, I haven't had one in like forever. And it was adorable because you still use big words even texting and...well you're just adorable so shh xxxx_

_From: Harry (19:12)_

_I don't tan, like at all, it's impossible. And I'm not adorable, I've told you this a million times! Xxx_

_From: Louis (19:13)_

_Aw my little vampire boyfriend, so cute xxxx_

_From: Harry (19:15)_

_Really, Lou? Really? Xxx_

_From: Harry (19:15)_

_Hey! I've just had an idea! Xxx_

_From: Louis (19:18)_

_No, Harry! For the last time, I don't want you to turn me into a vampire! Xxxx_

_From: Harry (19:20)_

_Fuck off, I'm not even that pale! And what I was saying, was that I was going to suggest for you to come along with us xxx_

_From: Harry (19:21)_

_Only if you want to of course xxx_

_From: Louis (19:23)_

_....I don't want to impose....xxxx_

_From: Harry (19:24)_

_You wouldn't be imposing! I'm inviting you out of my own free will! And Mum loves you so she'd love you to be there. Gemma's coming too, so it gives them time to gossip or whatever xxx_

_From: Louis (19:26)_

_Well when you put it like that...but like, I have my ballet class tomorrow so I can't stay off with you :/ xxxx_

_From: Harry (19:27)_

_Well Mum still has to go in for the charity thing so I could get ready beforehand, like ready for the beach, and still come in so we can all set off together? As long as you pack spare clothes and stuff it'll be fine :) xxx_

_From: Louis (19:29)_

_Well, I mean, I'd really really like to but...are you sure Anne wouldn't mind? Xxxx_

_From: Harry (19:30)_

_Of course she won't! Now answer me properly; are you coming to the beach with me or not? Xxx_

_From: Louis (19:32)_

_Ask your Mum first and then I'll answer xxxx_

_From: Harry (19:33)_

_God, so high maintenance! Fine, I will! Xxx_

From: Harry

To: Mum (19:33)

Can Lou come with us to the beach tomorrow? Pleeeease let him!

 

From: Mum

To: Harry (19:35)

You're a lazy bugger you, you couldn't have just walked downstairs to ask me, could you? But anyway, of course he can, you didn't even need to ask

 

From: Harry

To: Mum (19:36)

Thank you thank you thank you!

 

From: Mum

To: Harry (19:37)

But I don't want any PDA, hear me?

 

From: Harry

To: Mum (19:38)

Oh my God Mum shut up

 

From: Mum

To: Harry (19:39)

I'm just saying I don't want to see anything more than PG!

 

From: Harry

To: Mum (19:40)

Just. Stop Mum. Just stop.

_From: Harry (19:40)_

_My Mum said yes! So now you have no excuse ;) xxx_

_From: Louis (19:41)_

_Hey! It wasn't an excuse, I wanted to go! Xxxx_

_From: Harry (19:42)_

_Well now you can go, although my Mum said - I quote - "But I don't want any PDA, hear me?". I think I died xxx_

_From: Louis (19:43)_

_Omg your Mum is such a legend :L I'm glad that she's fine with us though, regardless of the fact she doesn't want any PDA :P xxxx_

_From: Harry (19:44)_

_Me too, me too :) xxx_

Harry had told Anne about the change in their relationship status the day after. It wasn't like he'd purposefully not told her on the day they got together, and normally he probably would've said straight away, but the time was never right and he was just too giddy to form proper words. His mind was just swirling with the fact that Louis was his boyfriend and he couldn't seem to bypass that big blockade. It wasn't like he wanted to forget about it, he probably couldn't even if he wanted to, but it had left him in such a blissful state that he wondered if he'd ever be able to form a coherent sentence in his head again. Not to mention when the kiss was added in there, everything just went straight to pot and he was riding on cloud nine every second he was awake.

Well, it wasn't like the kiss hadn't decided to plague his dreams either though. Actually, 'plague' sounds too negative and harmful; his thoughts definitely weren't anything of the similar to those connotations. It wasn't as if he'd directly thought about the kiss in his dreams, just a gentle reminder as he floated through dreamland that he'd felt lips upon his for the first time ever.

If he thought even lightly about the kiss, at any time, he could clearly feel those soft lips pressing against his. He could feel the tingle through each lip. It was like there was a feather dusting around the edges of his lips, tickling his pink plumps every time his mind caught wind of that heart bursting kiss.

Anne had caught onto this surprising change in demeanour. Harry was constantly wearing a grin, a smile, or even just a tug at the corners of his lips. It was refreshing, seeing such a happy expression. The cheerful smile branded Harry's skin with a whole new type of glee. That's not saying that in recent months Harry hadn't smiled at all, that's far from the truth, but she'd never seen him as joyful as he was that Saturday afternoon. Especially when that smile was obviously powered by something else which Anne couldn't quite work out; it was quite boggling.

She was going to leave it be, see if Harry's mood quivered a little and then maybe she'd be able to speak to him about that random mood increase. But that failed when Harry woke up the next morning, not even grumpy about being woken up by her having a shower. She'd expected at least a grunt from the boy as he passed her on his way downstairs, but instead she got a quiet smile. She'd looked behind, eyes trained on her son who was practically skipping down the stairs and off into the kitchen, and wondered how the hell he was still in such a good mood. But Anne wasn't about to complain any time soon; it was nice to have such a cheerful soul bounding around the house, even if it was for reasons unknown.

She'd made a bet with herself to see how long she could go without slipping up and asking why Harry was so damn happy. She thought she could maybe last the full Sunday, maybe twelve or so hours, probably dying to find out by the time they settled down to watch Big Brother.

She lasted two hours.

But all credits due, this was her _son;_ of course she was going to be curious. She had a right to be nosy.

She'd blurted it out as she chopped up the carrots for the dinner that night, her mind not fully concentrated on the task in hand as her eyes were constantly flickering over to the table where Harry sat, phone in hand and grin on lips. She asked him why he was so happy, turning around and setting the knife on the chopping board stilly. Of course she babbled a little, saying she loved his mood and that she was only wondering, _naturally_.

Harry just grinned at her, shooting her a cheeky wink, and confidently strutted into the living room, humming a nameless tune. Anne followed in suit, scuttling after him with more eager curiosity circulating her mind. Harry was lounged on the sofa when she approached him, a lazy smile caressing his lips.

Anne quickly grabbed the whiteboard and pen from the coffee table and shoved them onto Harry's chest. He was a little startled by the keenness in her actions but the wall guarding the secret only between him and Louis and stopping everyone else from knowing crumbled down as her eyes expressed enthusiasm right through to his soul.

_So...Louis may or may not have...kissed me..._

He was blushing furiously as he showed her it, his teeth caught over his bottom lip and a dimple prodding his cheek. This flush darkened as Anne read over the writing and in turn, found herself squealing. She quickly pulled Harry into an almost congratulatory hug, but pulled away soon after. Her hands were covering her huge grin as she rested them on her chin, her eyes sparkling with joy and pride.

"Oh, H! I'm so happy for you!" She beamed, pulling her hands from her own face and patting Harry's in a motherly fashion.

_That's not all_

Harry wrote, showing it to Anne with a gentle smirk. Anne had gasped at the new revelation that his happiness had even more depth; it made her giddy inside at all the possibilities. Obviously it wouldn't have been any further sexually, because she knew Harry and she knew he'd never do that. But the prospect of it being something romantically related had her heart bouncing in anticipation.

_He may or may not have asked me out..._

Clapping her hand over her mouth as not to let out another squeal which was ready to burst from her lips in excitement, Anne couldn't restrain the three little jumps she did when she read the writing. Harry's eyes weren't gleaming with embarrassment over his Mum's reaction, surprisingly; they were actually tinged with delight over the fact that she seemed so proud of him.

She was just happy that her son had found someone who cared for him as much as he cared for the other. It was a rarity in itself. Harry deserved that special someone.

But then it dawned on Anne that Harry hadn't specified that he'd accepted the offer. She was suddenly wishing to all Gods that he had done and he hadn't wasted such an amazing opportunity.

"Wait...you did say yes, didn't you?"

Harry looked at her like she was mad.

_Of course I said yes!_

She instantly let out a babble of words along the lines of 'oh my baby is all grown up' and 'I'm so happy for you, H' and 'you two are perfect together, aw Harry I'm so proud of you'.

After an endless amount of gushing on Anne's part, Harry had retreated back up to his room with a sense of settlement and achievement sitting snug in his heart. He wasn't exactly worried about his mother's reaction, she'd already given their relationship the okay the week previous, but he was still a little way of the fact she might've thought it was too soon. After all, Harry had only just realised his true feelings towards the boy. But in the end, she was totally fine with it, maybe even better than fine, she was utterly ecstatic.

He knew that she had gone straight to the house phone, dialling Gemma's number and pressing the phone hot to her ear to spill the new found knowledge she had received. No doubt Harry would receive an excited text, wanting to know every single little detail, from his beloved sister, and he was willing to freely provide them; after all, she was his sister and he told her practically everything. Of course his Mother was basically his best friend –bar Louis and Gemma herself–and he told her most things that he needed to, but it was different with Gem. She was younger; she understood small teenage emotions and he didn't mind letting all the words about the sparks of emotions he felt throughout the kiss flow out to her.

So overall, his family's reaction was that of euphoria. The two boys were thoroughly pleased.

 

The two boys were bunched up on the piano stool, neither actually playing the piano just then. Louis had tried to show Harry the new piece he was learning, but failed soon into it when he messed up the notes. He hadn't been learning it for long at all, so he was still rusty in where to place his fingers. He was becoming frustrated with how long it was taking him to learn, after all, it wasn't even supposed to be an 'advanced' piece.

He'd seen how Harry's eyes had washed over the staves approvingly, nodding at the tune he was playing in his head from the delicately placed notes. Those little black dots and lines sprung imagination of how it would be played immediately into Harry's mind. Louis knew that Harry would've been able to play it easily, but he wanted to at least be able to run through it once without having to look at Harry for help. It was as if the roles had been permanently reversed nowadays, with Harry the teacher and Louis the student.

Once Louis had groaned for the billionth time in annoyance, Harry let of a sigh and snatched a piece of paper from the top.

_Stop getting agitated, alright? It's a hard piece; don't knock yourself down over it._

"I know, I know. But I should at least be able to get through the first section before the crescendo there," he pointed out. "And I can't even do that. What is wrong with my fingers today? They were fine yesterday afternoon!" he whined, bringing his fingers up to his face and looking at them with a pained expression.

_Well it depends where your fingers were last night..._

Harry was smirking. Full blown smirking. Louis didn't catch on until the third glance over the sentence paired with the dirty expression on Harry's face, and when he did, he gasped at the cheeky innuendo.

"You dirty bastard!" he slapped Harry lightly on the arm, astonished, but revelled in the dirty laugh that Harry was cackling.

_What?! I don't know what you get up to every night!_

"I- I...don't...I- just...shut up, Haz!" Louis was blushing bright scarlet and his words were crawling with embarrassment.

_I *was* going to offer to help you play..._

"Oh please, Harry!" the embarrassment seemed to have decreased, or maybe Louis was just doing a good job of trying to diffuse it and cover it up like it had never been there.

_But I don't know if I want to put my hands over yours anymore..._

The smirk had returned, along with a small burst of that dirty laugh, but it was hidden by Harry's hand which shot over his mouth to stop the both of them. _That fucking smirk will be the death of me,_ Louis thought.

"Harry!" Louis whined. "Stop it!” He pouted childishly and crossed his arms, hands resting under his armpits.

_N'aw is Louis embarrassed?_

As Louis was reading, Harry went to pinch his cheeks as if he were a baby, which caused a strangled protest to scramble from Louis' lips as he pushed them away. Harry just laughed in response, shaking his head at Louis' antics.

Harry then, once he'd calmed down, shuffled off the seat and stood behind Louis. Louis shot him a confused glance, but obeyed Harry when he tugged up his hips to make him stand up. Louis shuffled closer to the piano as Harry's gangly legs slotted in behind him, but no torso seemed to follow. Turning his head around confusedly, he got a quick glance at Harry who was seated himself in Louis' place, but before he knew it, his bottom had been yanked down and he collapsed onto Harry's lap.

"What are you doing?!" Louis' voice was full of surprise and definitely not anger. He had to admit, Harry's lap was rather comfy and it was terribly hard not to grind down on his crotch. Temptation was a bitch. But Louis prevailed and waited for Harry to answer, temptation of Harry's lips being his next devil as they were so close to his, and Louis had to stop himself from attacking those so soft plumps ferociously.

Instead of answering directly, Harry plucked up his hands from around Louis' waist and moved them to hover high over Louis'. Louis hadn't even noticed that his hands had rested on the keys instinctively. As he slowly lowered them, he kept stopping and letting them raise a bit, before lowering them a bit more. It was like he was acting out hesitance and worry. His fingers were shaking over-exaggeratedly and his fingertips were curling in as he got closer.

Suddenly, as his hands were centimetres away from Louis', the heat radiating onto the tanned skin, Harry retracted his hands back with a whine to state that he couldn't put his hands over Louis'.

Louis caught on to what Harry was doing, the fake-disgusted expression being even more evidence. He jumped off of Harry's lap in frustration, causing Harry to start laughing –maybe it was at Louis' reaction, or maybe it was at his own joke– and turn to face him.

"For God's sake Harry! I didn't finger myself last night!"

Louis exclaimed words weren't followed by anything except silence. Harry's eyes were wide and his face a mixture of mortified, shocked, and laughter. His green orbs were directed just over Louis' shoulder.

_Oh fuck no, please no,_ Louis thought.

"Someone's behind me, right?" Louis winced. Harry nodded, his lips tight in a line to stop himself bursting out into fits of laughter.

Louis turned around tentatively on the balls of his feet to see – _Oh, it just had to be her didn't it?–_ Anne standing by the door, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Louis could feel the heat rising up his neck instantly, creeping up over his cheeks and burning in his temples. He stared in horror at her, mouth opening and closing as he tried to form a proper sentence, an apology, but all he kept doing was stumbling over words.

Anne coughed awkwardly, blinking to bring her out of her shocked trance and shooting Harry an estranged look.

"D-do you want to get going now?" She said weakly, gesturing to the exit. Louis couldn't react; he was still standing burning hot, frozen in the middle of the room. Harry, however, scrambled up from his seat and Louis could see out the corner of his eye him collecting his satchel and sidling up to Louis.

He pecked Louis on the cheek quickly, and Louis could feel his trance dissipating just from that one action. God, that sent so many tingles through Louis' body, he'd never be able to count them. It was such a simple form of affection, but it felt like an avalanche of feelings surged all the way to his toes all because of it. Harry's arm wrapped around his waist and started guiding him forward, following Anne who had rushed out of the room in a flurry, probably still as embarrassed as Louis.

Louis curled into Harry's grip as they wandered through the building, nuzzling his face into Harry's neck. He whispered, probably too quietly, "that was _so_ embarrassing, I think I'm going to die."

Obviously it was loud enough for Harry to hear, as the vibrations as he chuckled ran straight through Louis.  Harry tightened his grip around Louis as a way of comforting him, shaking his head slightly as if to help Louis get over the embarrassment.

Louis made a noise of protest into Harry's neck, acting against Harry's dismissive head shake. It wouldn't be _that_ easy to forget, but he made a pact in his head that he'd act like it never happened so hopefully it'd somehow just slip from Anne's mind. Harry's hot skin underneath his face was a distraction from the situation, the skin clinging together. He was tempted to pucker his lips and press them to the warm skin, but restrained himself.

They wandered to the car, reluctantly parting as Louis walked around the car and slipped inside it. Anne was chatting to a woman by the door, probably telling her the things needing to be done as she left hours early, so it was only him and Harry in the car.

The middle seat seemed to create such a barrier between the two of them, and all Louis wanted to do was slide over and snuggle into Harry's side. He just wanted to feel Harry's heat on him, wanted to use this new relationship status to be able to touch Harry as much as he wanted. Obviously Harry wasn't totally comfortable, but he was much more pliable to simple brushes and caresses.

"Do you mind if I...move along? To sit next to you?" Louis knew his voice was young and innocent, but he didn't really mind. He was cautious with his question, not sure on whether Harry would be okay with it.

Harry's big green eyes stared over at him, and he nodded slowly. Louis unbuckled his seatbelt and slid over. He buckled himself back in, the feel of Harry's leg on his burning through the jeans that lined his skin. He shuffled around so his shoulder was hooked behind Harry, and rested his temple on the shirted shoulder. Harry had tensed a little from the close proximity, but he relaxed soon enough.

Just as Anne was about to get in the car, loading things into the boot, hesitantly Harry's fingers edged over towards Louis' hand which lay on his lap. They twitched over the tips of Louis' before apprehensively skimming his soft skin over Louis'. The light touch made little goosebumps rise over Louis' arm, whether that was from it being ticklish or the fact it was Harry reaching out to him, he didn't know. Harry was silent, deep breaths through his nose being the only noise in the car. He picked up Louis' fingers and with trepidation, intertwining their hands together.

Louis sighed happily, glancing up to Harry with a smile on his face and squeezing their hands. His eyes spoke 'thank you' to Harry, even though he wasn't sure what he was thanking the boy for in particular. For reaching out. For letting him in. For being there. For being him. Everything.

Harry's eyes gleamed back at him, bright green pools of dissipating hesitance and growing comfort. He seemed happy with himself; happy that he'd had the courage to make the first move, happy that he was actually comfortable with someone sitting so close to him, regardless of the initial tension it sent through his body.

The atmosphere wasn't so much as destroyed, when Anne slid into the front seat, but the embarrassment Louis had felt rose to the surface of his cheeks just at the memory. The mother said something along the lines of “right then, let's get going" in a bright and cheery voice, before turning on the engine and roaring off down the street. They were to pick up Gemma from back home –as she was home for a break from Uni– and then make the hour journey to the coast.

 

The thin, tartan blanket had just been lain out on the soft sand, the bags all piled up by the side and jumpers balled up into little make-shift cushions. Sunglasses boxes were left open by the side, no sunglasses filling the contents as they moved to perch on their respective owner's noses. Anne and Gemma were more of a big, round glasses type people, the type you'd see some celebrity wearing. Harry had on those stomach swirling Ray Bans, which Louis thoroughly enjoyed peeking at through his Aviator shades.

Harry wasn't really dressed for the beach, neither was Louis really, unlike Gemma and Anne. Gemma was wearing a knee length, floaty dress covered in swishes and swirls of bright colours; Louis couldn't deny how utterly beautiful she looked. Anne was donned in similar attire; however she wore a long maxi dress which complimented her figure exceptionally well. Harry, on the other hand, was wearing tan chinos, a white t-shirt and an open, short sleeved, faded shirt over the top. It was a relatively cool outfit –temperature wise, but that's not saying it didn't look...ravishing– so he wasn't going to overheat too much. _But if the worst comes to the worst, he can always take off the white t-shirt, leave that shirt on though in case he gets chilly, but he can keep it open, God, that'd be really hot- No Louis, don't think about it._ Really, Louis shouldn't have been so perceptive about fashion, but his excuse always was that he was just fitting the gay stereotype.

Anne and Gemma had already lain on the rug, taking up all the space, so Harry and Louis were left standing awkwardly, sun blaring down on their backs. Two extra towels were lying by the blanket, so with the suggestion that the two of them lie them out, they moved a long a little so they weren't right beside the mother and sister pair, and let them float to the ground.

Harry immediately flopped onto the ground with a 'hmph' and sprawled himself over the large towel. His face was directed into the sun, and a little strip of pale skin showed where his t-shirt had ridden up. Louis found it hard to take his eyes off the relaxed figure, especially when the sun seemed to increase in brightness and every part of Harry seemed to radiate beauty.

_God, I'm so sappy,_ Louis thought.

He collapsed in tail and lay down on the towel, letting his revealed skin soak up the rays of sunlight. It was nice, peaceful, lying there with just the sound of the sea, children playing, and seagulls squawking, playing around their heads. Louis' eyes searched out Harry from behind his sunglasses, his red lips being the first thing Louis saw.

He hadn't noticed Harry biting them or anything to make them such a deep pink colour, almost red, but he was suddenly thankful for whatever made them look so lusciously coloured. It wasn't like Louis had a lipstick kink or anything, but seeing those lips looking so plump, smooth and –oh, now shiny from the tongue which just swiped over them, it was something which Louis found fascinating. It was probably because Louis actually had the permission to press his lips against the apple reds, that's what made them so enticing no matter how delicious they looked.

Daringly, without much thought, Louis shuffled up the towel silently, so Harry didn't notice, and then suddenly rolled over and pounced onto him. His aim, though, wasn't as good as his silence as his lips didn't land on those juicy reds; they landed on the side of Harry's nose. Harry looked a little stunned when Louis pulled off to look at him once he realised he missed target.

"Sorry," Louis said. He looked around to see if he'd alerted Anne or Gemma, but neither seemed interested. "Your lips looked tasty and I wanted to kiss them," he whispered it like it was a secret never to be shared. A simple secret albeit.

Harry blushed, a light twinge of pink dusting his cheeks. He held that rich bottom lip between his teeth, making Louis' lips almost jealous over the claim they had over the soft flesh. Louis watched intently, blue eyes trained solely on the darkened skin, as Harry slowly let his teeth ease away from his lip. The unbitten section became plumper as he pulled away, the colour deepening with every millisecond of prolonged loss. It wasn't long before the soft lip had sprung back into place, swollen and pinked. Louis wasn't sure if Harry was doing it on purpose, but fuck, it looked so hot Louis didn't think he could actually keep his insides –or outsides– in check.

"You're so hot," Louis growled unguardedly. He didn't give himself a chance to check out Harry's reaction as his lips dragged down to Harry's. It was tempting to separate his lips and part Harry's with his, but he knew not to take it too far. The thoughts of just licking them like he would a lolly were overwhelming, but he focussed solely on the feel and nothing more. He lost himself in just keeping those lips on his; that was all he needed.

As he pulled away, and dipped in to press his lips on Harry's again to vary the length they were pressed together, he was vaguely away of Harry's arms raising above his curly-haired head, but took no notice. It was only when he felt a cold sprinkle of sand shimmy down his neck from above that he pulled away in shock, shaking his body violently to rid of the tickly feeling.

"Oh, it's on Styles."

 

After throwing sand around and kicking abandoned sandcastles towards each other, Louis was worn out. The sun on their backs made it even hotter as they scrambled around the sand. He was covered in grains of sand; no doubt he'd find them _everywhere_ for at least a week, but seeing Harry in such a 'worky-ticket' mood, so mischievous and playful, was all worth it. He had a giant smirk-tainted grin on his face as he grabbed handfuls of sand, and he laughed loudly when it smashed off of Louis' sandy clothes.

They'd fallen to the floor in a tumble, wrestling playfully with each other and trying to squash sand in the other's face, but soon enough they'd given up and surrendered. They turned to playing with the sand a little more eloquently, as such. They nabbed two neglected, empty plastic cups and filled them with sand. They made a little castle of five overturned cups, and scooped out a moat around the edge. The water wasn't going to flow close enough to fill the trench, but it gave the same effect regardless. Louis was pleased with the construction, but Harry scrambled for random shells and stones to decorate it up.

They finished with a sigh, gazing at their masterpiece –it wasn't _that_ good though– that stood strong in the breeze. Louis pulled out his phone and snapped a photo, aiming to print it off at some point to slip it in with everything else 'Harry'. After sliding his phone back into his pocket, he mirrored Harry's position and sat back, his arms supporting his body behind him as the palms of his hands dug into the grainy sand.

Louis turned his head over to Harry, speaking after a few seconds of just admiration which were unavoidable, especially when it was a side portrait of the curly-haired boy: "Fancy going back for a sunbathe? I'm kinda tired out."

Harry scoffed, looking at Louis pointedly, eyebrows raised. Louis replied to the look with a voiced out "What?!” Harry scanned the beach quickly before sticking his hand out to point somewhere. Louis' eyes followed the action and locked onto an old man, fast asleep on the deck chair whilst his –Louis guessed– grandkids played happily around him.

Louis gasped dramatically, "I am not an old man!"

Harry just laughed as he stood up, flicking his wrist as if to say, "Whatever you say, Grandad."

"Bastard," Louis muttered under his breath, standing up to follow the younger boy. He dusted off his jeans and plodded back to the towel where Harry had situated himself in a lying down position, his elbows being used to hold his upper body up. His face wasn't that expressive, and Louis couldn't see his eyes as to whether he was thinking deeply or not, but he still looked a sight for sore eyes. "Fucking beautiful bastard though."

Louis collapsed onto the hard ground beside Harry, sighing heavily. He fumbled for his jumper, balling it up and setting it underneath his head. He closed his eyes, ready to try and catch a little nap, but that seemed impossible. The jumper wasn't much help at all; it was hard and uncomfortable, especially on the third rearrangement of it when the zip dug into the back of his head. He was about to try and redo the cushioning once again, but he felt a hand clasp around his bicep.

He looked over at Harry, who was tugging his arm closer towards himself. Louis shot him a confused look. Harry took this response with an eye roll, and shuffled closer so he lay in between both towels where they joined. Once he'd settled, he pulled harder on Louis to make the older boy lay next to him, so close their skin was touching. He let Louis' arm go and guided Louis' head onto his chest; and then Louis realised what he was doing.

It was thrilling, as such, seeing Harry rearrange them so they were comfortable, _together._ He was openly letting Louis sleep on him, just so Louis could sleep well. Yes, they had already technically slept together –not in that way, _obviously–_ but this was such a light action which would've been thought to be unimportant to anyone else, but to Louis it made his heart flutter.

They'd found a position, Harry lying on his back with Louis snuggled into his side, his head resting on Harry's chest. Louis could hear Harry's fast-beating heart, it not being at a normal pace. The fact that _Louis_ had caused that was somewhat astounding for the Doncaster-lad.

It wasn't long though, when the heartbeat had slowed down to a reasonably normal rate. Louis took it that Harry was then comfortable with their bodies touching, and he let his eyes droop into sleep.

 

Louis stirred from his slumber, rolling around a little on the towel. His eyes creaked open but shut tight when the blinding sun was the first thing he saw, evidently his sunglasses had fallen off in his sleep. He knew he hadn't been asleep _that_ long from the way his eyelids weren't stuck together with a film of sleep, but he'd definitely fallen into dreamland for a small while. His arm blindly struck out to the side, trying to search out the boy who he'd fallen asleep on. He presumed that he'd rolled off of the boy during his nap, but the cushioning under his head was place all too carefully, so his sleep-ridden mind was slightly confused.

Slowly opening his eyes and sitting up, he shaded his eyes with his hand and glanced around. Harry was nowhere to be seen, not sitting next to him or Anne and Gemma.

"Hey Anne," Louis' coughed away his croaky voice. "D'you know where Harry is?"

Anne pulled her face up from her book, and looked at Louis through her sunglasses. "He's just gone down to the sea, love. He only left ten minutes or so ago so he's probably still down there."

Louis nodded appreciatively and stood up, stretching his muscles and bones with a crack. Running his hands down his jeans to smooth out the creases that gathered around his knees, Louis let his bare feet take him further down the beach. The closer he got, the easier it was to spot those infamous curls. Harry was swinging his foot back and forth in the shallow depths of the sea. His trousers were rolled up a little, the faded material of the insides on show along with the pale of Harry's skin. They weren't rolled that high up, so they'd probably get wet anyway if he went in any deeper or the waves crashed a little more forcefully, but being half way up his shin, Louis could imagine Harry taking his time to roll them up evenly and neatly. The thought was adorable in itself.

As the soft, light sand turned darker and wetter, Louis could see Harry much clearer. He looked deep in thought –if that was able to be told from behind– by his, now aimless, swinging of his feet, more of a weak kick. His hands were hanging loosely by his side, his fingers dropping in lack of structure.

Louis crept up behind him, the sand squelching, aiming to surprise the boy with the wrapping of his arms around Harry's waist. That, however, went to pot when his toes first came in contact with the coldness of the sea. He let out a girlish squeal and retracted backwards away from the incoming water. It bit at his toes and tingled through his veins in instant reaction, and he almost regretted coming down to the sea at all. It was only _almost_ regret though, because seeing Harry front on, a genuine smile on his lips, was worth any amount of numbing.

"I want to come in and cuddle you but it's really fucking cold," Louis admitted, dipping his toe into the approaching water but pulling it out immediately with a hiss.

Harry reached out to him, clenching his hands into a fist and then releasing them as if to lure Louis in. The younger boy jutted out his bottom lip and widened those eyes into big green saucers, and it seemed that Louis' mind was suddenly hypnotised. His feet walked into the cold without thought and his body collapsed into Harry's awaiting arms.

Standing in the freezing water wasn't so bad when Harry's arms were wrapped around him. He'd momentarily forgotten about the coldness and just lost himself in Harry's warmth, the feeling of the taller boy engulfing his skinnier body. It turned out well, because his feet were no longer cold; they were numbed to the bone, meaning he couldn't feel the chill nipping at his skin.

"I want to go on holiday," Louis sighed into Harry's chest. Harry made a noise of approval and Louis could feel the shake as Harry nodded his head.

"I want to go somewhere warm," Louis said, and Harry once again nodded in agreement.

"But nowhere too far away, still stay in Europe," Harry shook his head to tell Louis that he thought the same, not wanting to have to travel so far away.

"Nowhere too hot though, like Spain, because I don't want to have to buy loads of new clothes," Harry squeezed Louis in acknowledgement of what he said.

"Maybe somewhere like France or Italy," Harry then nodded enthusiastically at Louis' words, more so than he had with his other rambles. Louis pulled his head from Harry's chest and looked up at him curiously. Harry had a small smile on his lips and wide eyes.

"Which one, France?" Harry shook his head.

"Oh, you want to go to Italy?" Harry nodded his head excitedly, even though there were no plans made or anything of the similar, just mindless chatter.

"Italy looks like a beautiful place," Louis sighed, burying his head in Harry's chest again. He could feel Harry nodding again, and a hand come up to stroke his hair. It felt so relaxing having the long fingers thread through his soft locks, the tips rubbing on his scalp. He had to suppress the whimper of satisfaction as Harry's short nails unknowingly scratched his skin.

"I want to take you away," Louis whispered. He felt Harry straighten up a little, but brushed it off as he continued to speak.

"I've thought about it, y'know? Taking you away somewhere, somewhere hot. Come to think about it, Italy is the kind of place I imagined. I thought about how we'd get a really luxurious hotel room, and we could wake up whenever we wanted. We wouldn't have to do anything; nobody would know us; nobody would want us to do anything; we could just be lazy every day. We'd stroll down the streets, hand in hand. Look at the markets where mountains of food were piled up and try some of the local delicacies. Then we'd have dinner, and we'd share dessert because we'd be so stuffed from eating a starter and a main course that we could only manage a tiny bit of sweetness. Maybe we'd go see a local band play or just walk along the beach at night. And we'd go back to the hotel room late at night, and we'd fall asleep together, in each other's arms. Then when we woke up, we'd do it all again."

It was quiet. Just the sound of the waves crashing around them could be heard. Louis' arms were tight around Harry, his eyes fluttered shut as he rested on Harry's chest. The chest which had frozen underneath Louis' ear as he continued to talk about his little ideas. Louis could hear Harry's heart beating wildly; he could almost sense the thoughts in his mind were running around and around at a speedy pace.

For some reason, although he could tell that Harry was freaking out _mildly,_ he didn't regret what he'd said. Everything was the truth; he wasn't lying. He _wanted_ to do that with Harry, so bad. Of course he knew that it wouldn't happen for quite a few years, but he wanted to show Harry that he had that side to him. That he wanted those things.

"Speak to me, baby, tell me what you're thinking," Louis said softly, his voice almost a whisper it was so light. He lifted his head to look at the boy's face, and was surprised by the lack of worry expressed on it. Of course there was a slight twinge of worry there, but there wasn't enough for it to be, well, worrying. Harry gestured for Louis' phone, presumably so that he could communicate his racing thoughts through it.

_I think I'd like that_

"You would?" Louis said in shock. His voice portrayed the surprise he felt; it was high and almost squeaky. "Y-you mean, like, soon? Not in a few years?"

_Soon, yeh, I'd like to go soon...if you'd want to, that is..._

"Of course I'd want to! Oh my God, Harry! I'd love to."

_But how soon...I mean, I'm ready to go, like ~mentally, but I don't know if my Mum thinks I am..._

"Maybe after the fundraiser? I mean, it's not set in stone; I'm not going to kidnap you and take you away if she says no, but it's a nice thought right?"

_It's a really nice thought...I'd really like to go away with you..._

"I don't want to force you into anything though, Haz. I never ever want you to feel pressured into doing something, so please tell me now if you're just saying this for the sake of it. It's a big step going away together; it's just you and me. You've got to be sure you're comfortable even with the idea of it."

_I'm sure, Lou. I've thought about it too, y'know? I want to do this with you. People don't realise that I can be independent; I can make my own choices and this is a choice I'm totally sure about. Yeh, sure, I'll be nervous, but I want to go with you so bad._

"You're incredible, do you know that?" Louis grinned. He pushed up onto his tiptoes and pressed a chaste kiss onto Harry's smiling lips.  "We'll look into it, okay?"

Harry nodded surely with a wide, toothy grin. Louis returned it effortlessly.

"C'mon, babe, let's walk up. M'getting kinda hungry," Louis took Harry's hand in his, sparing a look at Harry to check that it was okay. He was reassured by the gentle smile and squeeze of their hands together. Harry really was becoming a total different person, and Louis really liked it. Of course he liked both sides to Harry equally, but it was nice to see such a shy boy come out of his shell all because of his doings.

They swung their hands together freely as they wandered back to their spot, Louis chattering away in Harry's ear, even though he knew Harry wasn't listening. The distant but blissful look in his eyes was evidence, and the pull at his lips just showed that he was definitely happy.

Louis knew there were a few curious gazes from the older generation, but nothing too bad. They were just looking at the boyfriends, wondering, so it didn't bother Louis one bit. Harry was oblivious, and Louis wondered how Harry would react if he wasn't so unaware.

They soon reached their spot, seeing Anne and Gemma conversing deeply between themselves. They looked up as the couple approached and Anne couldn't hide the smile prodding at her lips when she saw their locked hands and smiling faces. Gemma looked at them sweetly, but something was lingering behind her eyes which Louis couldn't quite place. He didn't know Gemma that well, but he thought she was lovely from the time they'd spent together. He hoped she felt the same way about him; after all, he was dating her brother of whom she felt an inordinate amount of need to protect over.

"I'm thinking of getting something to eat, do you guys want anything?" Louis asked, reluctantly letting his fingers untangle from Harry's.

"No thanks, darling," Anne said with a smile, returning back to her book.

"Haz, you want anything? A drink or something? I could pick you up a coke if you like?" Louis asked. Harry shook his head and plonked himself down on the towel by Anne.

"Gemma? Anything for you?"

"I might come along with you, if that's alright?" Gemma said, standing up. Harry shot her an expressive look, but she just waved it off with a flick of her wrist.

"Uh yeh, that's fine," Louis said.

The two wandered up the beach in silence, making their way to the hut further along. Louis was waiting for Gemma to speak, knowing she was eager to say something. As Louis looked at the sandwiches on display, Gemma hovered by, wringing her hands together.

"You're not going to hurt him, right?" She blurted out.

Louis' head shot around to look at her, his face appalled: "Wha- of course not! Do...do you think I will? Is that what you expect of me?"

"No, God no! I just...I'm worried about him, y'know?" Gemma winced.

Louis picked up a sandwich and bottle of coke –cheese, ham and pickle sandwich if you were wondering, and _no_ the coke wasn't just in case Harry wanted to share it. _God,_ why on _earth_ would you think that? – and placed them on the counter, fishing out some coins from his pocket and placing them on the counter for the cashier.

"I know, Gem. I'm the same with my sisters, except if one of them had Harry's...condition, then I'd probably be exactly like you," Louis said, collecting his change and food before turning to Gemma. They turned around and started to walk back, not having spoken again for a minute or so.

"Can we sit down? I just...I want to talk to you about it, I need reassurance about this whole thing," Gemma said, gesturing with her hands. They sat down on the sand, Louis leaving his food by his side so he could concentrate on Gemma's words. She was obviously going to give him the 'If you break his heart, I'll break your legs' speech. Louis expected it at some point, he was waiting for it.

"You yourself know how sensitive Harry is. He can break so easily, he doesn't realise how breakable he actually is. He thinks he's strong, and yeh, he is because he's been through a hell of a lot. But he's not _that_ strong. I don't think he'd be able to cope with something as big as heartbreak, I really don't. –can I just speak before you say anything? Thanks, love– You've made him so happy, Louis, and I really don't think I can thank you enough. He's come out of his shell so much. Seeing him smile is one of my favourite things ever, and you have increased the chance of seeing him smile massively. He's so much more confident; I love what he's become. And that's all down to you, Louis; it's all down to you. So yeh, I want to thank you for that. I know you like him so much, and hearing him babble on about when you kissed him made my week, it really did.

But there's always that chance that you'll hurt him, and I can't risk that happening to him. Like I said before, he's been through a lot and I don't want this on top of everything. I know it's cliché, but I swear to God, Louis, if you break his heart I _will_ find you and I won't hesitate in ripping your dick off so you'll never be able to fuck with anyone again: got that?"

Louis gulped and nodded mutely. He wouldn't admit it, but the fire in her voice messed with his nerves a little. She sounded so threatening, like she meant it with such passion.

"I-I won't hurt him, I swear," Louis coughed, his voice sounding thick with fear beforehand. "I _really_ like him, Gemma. I seriously could spend days on end just _being_ with him and I'd never get bored. I'm going to make sure that I'm with him for as long as he wants me, and when he gets sick of me I'll still keep trying because I like him so much. He means the world to me. I know it sounds so strong… I mean, I don't _love_ him, I know I don't, but I do feel strongly about him. I wouldn't ever hurt him on purpose and I don't want to be the one who breaks him; I want to be the one who keeps him strong or the one to fix him."

"You're a good lad, Louis; you mean well. I like you; you're good for him. Just...be careful with him, yeh?"

"Definitely," Louis said without doubt. "Hey, I was wondering, I mean, I'll ask Anne too but what would you say to me and Haz going on holiday for a few days in a couple of weeks?"

Gemma's eyes widened comically, "holiday? You and H? Alone? Just you two?"

Louis chuckled, "yes, just us two. He wanted to go to Italy; we've spoken about it. He wants to go; he says he's ready to."

"He said that?"

"Yeh, he was totally up for it. He thinks your Mum won't think he's ready, but if it comes from the horse's mouth then surely she'll be okay with it, right?"

"I...don't know. It'll be hard for her to say yes; he's never really been away from us, but I'm all for it. He'll love it, being away from the family and stuff. You've got me on side at least," she smiled, shrugging.

"Thanks Gemma, for everything," Louis said sincerely.

"My pleasure, Louis," she replied. She outstretched her arms and pulled him into a warm hug.

"It means a lot that you're okay with us," Louis muttered into her ear.

"I know," she said kindly. "But if something goes wrong, don't think I won't put your balls through a mincer."


	14. Wednesday 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, i totally forgot to update again, oops

**Wednesday 13**

Harry wasn't scared.

No, he definitely wasn't _scared._ Being scared is something a child feels when they've lost their parents in a crowd, or when they've woken up from a nightmare and it's pitch black. _That_ is being scared. Being scared is not something a 16 year old boy feels when there's a thunderstorm. No. He was just...merely concerned about his wellbeing; that was all.

Who knew how long the rain would pound onto the ground for, maybe it'd cause a flood. Who knew how far the lightening was from his house, maybe it could strike on his roof and set the house alight. Who knew how loud the thunder would get, maybe it would deafen him and –o _kay_ , so maybe the scenarios plaguing Harry's mind in a race of spiralling thoughts _were_ from fear, but it's not like he _wanted_ to be scared. He hated it in fact. It wasn't like he got a thrill out of the adrenaline rush or that afterwards he would always laugh it off and find the hilarity in it; no, Harry most definitely did not.

He hated being scared, mainly because it made him feel stupid. He was a teenager, in the latter end of his youthful years, and he shouldn't have felt that way. No other teenager would and it just separated Harry from the rest even more. Of course nobody knew about his fear; the only thunderstorm during school being when he was 10 and it was alright to be scared –even though all the boys in the class didn't think of it like that–, but in his mind, he knew that it wasn't normal.

His mind: that was the seed of it. His mind thought up horrendous scenarios, some of which were totally unrealistic, which then led on to his insecurities leaking out. He'd think and think and think as the rain splashed against the window that he was pathetic and stupid and anything else similar. Usually there was someone in the house, someone to comfort him and distract him from said thoughts. This time, however, he was alone.

Harry being alone with his thoughts was never good for anyone.

Anne was stuck at work, she said through her texts, and she was going to stay at her colleagues house, which was only five minutes away, until the storm had settled. Harry didn't want her to go outside, he tried to convince her to just stay in the building and set up camp there for the –he was trying to convince himself that it would be over soon– little amount of time the thunderstorm had left in its system. But Anne was either oblivious to his efforts or shunning them to the side. She was dead set on staying at her friend's house, mainly because it was more comfortable. She wasn't listening to Harry.

The rain seemed to get heavier after that.

Gemma was back at Uni too, having returned back there two days prior. It was her who Harry was mainly worried about. But really, when _wasn't_ Harry worrying about Gem? She was young, pretty, beautiful and bubbly; she was a catch. Harry had always worried that someone would take advantage of that, but that was never really his main worry. Her whole wellbeing was always on his conscience. He always dropped her a text every morning and just before he went to sleep –that was usually hours before her head even hit the pillow– just to make sure that she was okay in her second-story flat.

Maybe that's what made this storm even more worry-fuelling for him. The fact that she lived off the ground crossed out the problem of a flood, but it did mean that if somehow the electrical equipment below caught on fire from the lightening, then she'd have no way to escape. It was somewhat of a slight chance of it happening, but Harry was Harry and of course it'd be a problem.

He was frantic in his texts, making sure she was alright. He wanted her with him, to cuddle him and rub his head, soothing his nerves. But no, she just had to be hours away. He couldn't even hear her voice; there was never much point in phone calls when he couldn't talk back.

Louis, he was the last person Harry checked up on. It wasn't like he was at the bottom of his priority list –although his mother and sister would obviously come before anyone else– but there was something about Louis which made him feel a little more secure. Louis could take care of himself, and even though Harry was a worrier –and a big one at that, not remembering a certain Saturday night situation weeks back or anything– he cared dearly for Louis' welfare, but there was some vibe which Louis gave off which screamed 'safe'.

Referring back to that Saturday of worry, although this was similar in the fact that Harry was kind of scared shitless, it wasn't the same in some way. Harry didn't know Louis as well then, he didn't know how Louis was careful underneath that boisterous and spontaneous layer of skin. Louis would never put himself in danger, especially not now when he had Harry to look after too.

It was like Louis could almost sense the worry bleeding into Harry's words through his texts, so he was doing all he could to comfort the younger boy. That in itself was weird for Harry because nobody, bar his family, had ever been able to understand Harry's emotions. Yes, he didn't express them much at all, and he knew that sometimes he had that blank, emotionless look on his face, but he felt something underneath, most people didn't realise that. He had emotions; he felt everything just as much as everyone else, but some people seemed to think that he wasn't the same as them all because of his lack of voice, and they thought that he didn't matter in a time of need because _obviously_ the mute boy doesn't feel anything.

He could tell that someone knew him well enough when they could work out how he was feeling even when he had that guarded look etched onto his features, and that knowledge gave him the courage to trust the person. It also gave him the food for the worry though, but that's not the point.

The point was even when Harry wasn't with Louis, Louis could tell how he was feeling like it was the back of his hand. Maybe it was because they'd only communicated through writing and texts, so he'd picked up on his language use and anything of the similar. But regardless of how Louis did it, it just showed Harry that he had found someone who _wanted_ to know him more than anyone else, and someone who _wanted_ to be his comforter and to be comforted by him.

Harry didn't exactly want to be comforted though; well, by Louis anyway. He knew the older boy wouldn't judge him, but there was always that worry that he'd see how innocently childish Harry was and he'd want nothing more to do with him. He didn't want to let on that he was scared of said weather because that's the kind of thing a six year old would be scared of, not a sixteen year old. He didn't want to be mocked –not that Louis would do that– or jeered at, and the more people who knew about his fear, the more who could turn on him and make his life a misery, all based on that one little fact alone.

He wasn't doing that very well, _obviously,_ the keeping of his fear to himself. Louis had guessed soon into their conversation, understanding that Harry's worry didn't just stop after how Louis was getting home from Uni. He'd asked softly, and not patronisingly at all, whether Harry was scared of thunderstorms, and with a little nudge from Harry's heart, he was spilling out his fears through the little screen.

 

_From: Harry (16:41)_

_I know nothing is actually going to happen to me, but I can't help it. I'm still scared xxx_

_From: Louis (16:42)_

_I want to help you, baby, I really do. I don't like you being scared. What can I do to help you? Xxxx_

_From: Harry (16:43)_

_Stop the storm? Xxx_

_From: Louis (16:44)_

_I would if I could, Harry. Xxxx_

_From: Louis (16:45)_

_How about I come over? Then I can distract you and comfort you, yeh? Xxxx_

_From: Harry (16:46)_

_I can't let you do that, something might happen to you. I don't want you getting hurt xxx_

_From: Louis (16:47)_

_*Nothing* is going to happen to me, nothing at all. I'll just get in my car and drive over to you, simple! xxxx_

_From: Louis (16:47)_

_I want to see you anyway, I miss you xxxx_

_From: Harry (16:48)_

_You miss me? Xxx_

_From: Louis (16:49)_

_Of course I do, I always miss you when you're not with me xxxx_

_From: Harry (16:50)_

_Seriously? Xxx_

_From: Louis (16:53)_

_100% xxxx_

_From: Harry (16:55)_

_Well...well I miss you too xxx_

_From: Harry (17:00)_

_Lou? Xxx_

_From: Harry (17:02)_

_Louis? Where are you? Xxx_

_From: Harry (17:05)_

_Louis, seriously, where the fuck have you gone? Are you okay? Text me back, please. I'm scared xxx_

_From: Harry (17:06)_

_Fuck, Lou. Someone's at the door. I don't want to answer it. Help me xxx_

"It's me, Harry! Open the fucking door or I swear to God, my balls are actually going to freeze up, I'm fucking soaked out here," Louis called through the door, banging on the wood with the side of his fisted hand. Whether his voice had travelled over the thick thunderous noises and through the door, or whether Harry was actually listening and hadn't set himself into panic mode; Louis wasn't sure. He kept banging on the door just in case.

He was glancing behind him when the locks on the door were released, looking nervously at the rain which didn't seem to be letting up any time soon. It was hitting the pavement with such force that it ricocheted back up off the ground, splattering back down again a little further along. Puddles were merging together into deeper, wider volumes that would rise up to your ankles if you stepped off the pavement, maybe even higher.

His fist fell into thin air when he went to knock again, making his head snap around back to the entrance. The warm air rushed at him, and he took in the sight of the warm house. Before he caught sight of Harry though, he was heaved into the house as a loud clap of thunder shook through the air. His body stumbled through the door and into the hallway, and as he regained composure, he heard the door slamming shut and locks being turned shakily.

Louis looked back at Harry who was leaning against the door, hands and back flat against it. His eyes were closed and his head was tilted back, his jaw line on full view. _Oh god, I just want to lick all the way along his jaw and-._  The blanket wrapped around his shoulders was slipping away, falling off from over his band tee and past his dark grey jogger bottoms, but Harry was focused on slowly breathing back his nerves.

Louis rushed forward so he was standing right in front of Harry, not caring that his wet clothes were dripping all over the floor. His small hands cupped Harry's chin and guided his face down so it was level with his. Harry's eyes slowly cracked open, revealing those vibrant greens which were submerged with mossy worry.

"You okay?" Louis asked, a rough edge to his tone as of lack of breath. His thumb rubbed at the smooth skin of Harry's cheek, little circles of comfort. Harry let out a shaky breath and nodded with a slow blink. He seemed to have overcome his shock, and he let a lazy smile grace his lips because of Louis' presence.

"C'mere," Louis muttered through his smile. He opened his arms and let Harry walk willingly into them. However, Louis seemed to have forgotten that his clothes were soaked through: his jacket slippery wet, his jeans saturated, and his shoes sodden. Harry immediately bounced back with a cry and face of horror. Louis was freezing to the touch, in contrast to the warmth of Harry.

"Oops," Louis winced. "Sorry, I forgot."

Harry sighed and shook his head in a motherly way, tutting through his teeth. He rolled his eyes at Louis' carelessness and grabbed his hand. Louis went to question him as Harry pulled him up the stairs, but his words fell short when he was shoved into the bathroom. Harry had snatched a towel from the pile of washing on the landing and shoved it in Louis' arms. He scuttled out the room and returned with a pair of baggy, light grey tracksuit bottoms and a plain white t-shirt, placing them on the small countertop.

Louis just watched as Harry stood in the middle of the room, evidently thinking about something. Remembrance dawned over his face and he snatched the towel from Louis' clutch, placing it on the heated towel rail carefully to warm it up. He walked over to the bath and reached up to turn the shower head on, letting his hand stray under the warm water for a few moments to test its temperature. Once he was satisfied, Louis watched as he turned back around to him and pointed to Louis and then to the shower.

Louis had to resist letting the words, "N'aw Harry!" squeal from his mouth. He found Harry acting so motherly absolutely adorable, especially when he looked so determined as he did then to care for Louis. The whole point of Louis coming over to Harry's house was to comfort and care for him, not the other way around. But Louis wasn't complaining, especially when Harry was acting like he was.

It was as if nature knew what Louis was about to say, and wanted to provide some extra evidence to back up his words. Instead of providing noisy thunder that wouldn't be able to be heard over the shower, a flash of lightening brightened the room and Louis saw Harry visibly flinch.

" _Harry,_ " Louis said calmly. "I'm here to make sure you're alright. I can't do that if I'm in the shower and you're stuck all by yourself."

Harry shook his head determinedly and batted his hand through the air as if to say "It's fine".

"But-"

Harry looked at Louis sharply and placed his hands on Louis' biceps, guiding him closer to the shower as if to make his point obvious. The unwavering look in Harry's eyes made Louis let out a sigh of defeat. "Fine, fine. But I'll be as quick as I can, and if you need me, you just knock on the door or come in and get me, alright?"

Harry nodded with a smile and bright eyes and started to walk out.

"For _anything_ at all, okay? Even if you're just the teensiest bit afraid or worried, you'll come and get me won't you?"

Harry rolled his eyes but his grin widened, and he nodded firmly. He made his way out, shutting the door closed behind him. Louis couldn't hear his retreating footsteps, but he had a feeling that he'd returned to the living room downstairs. He let out a sigh, chuckling under his breath at Harry's antics, and started peeling off his wet clothes to then clamber under the heated pellets of water.

 

Louis sighed into his mug as he wiggled around under the duvet, settling himself. His back was supported by the armrest and he was facing Harry, the younger boy mirroring his position at the other end of the sofa. Their feet were tangled together in mess of limbs, and Louis was finding it difficult not to let his toe rub against the skin of Harry's ankle. The thick duvet hid everything underneath and kept the warmth surrounding them, almost locking them away and keeping them safe. The storm was still occurring, even after Louis shower –which was surprisingly speedy for him– but Harry hadn't seemed too shaken up when he found the boy curled on the sofa.

He'd carried down Harry's duvet with him, ready for him and Harry to snuggle up under. He knew the boy wouldn't mind. Besides, it wasn't like he hadn't been in his room before, and he wasn't snooping there either, just simply whipping the cover off of the bed and dragging it downstairs with him. They'd settled down under the warmth, but Louis still had a few goosebumps pulling at his skin. Harry's clothing was too big on him, the bottoms having to be tightened to the tightest they could be or else they'd hang too low down, the bottoms having to be rolled up, and the t-shirt being baggy at the bottom and the sleeves longer than they were supposed to be.

Harry had instantly piped up and told him to wait while he went to get him –and Louis quotes– 'The best drink in the world'. He'd returned with two mugs clutched between his fingers, one maroon with faded yellow writing that Louis couldn't quite work out the words to, and one light blue mug with a white floral pattern covering it. His tongue was peeking out through his lips as he walked steadily over to him, and Louis leaned forward to take the blue mug from him as he bent to hand it over. It confused Louis, when he felt the warmth of the mug but saw the clear of the liquid and smell of lemon.

_It's hot lemonade. It's nice, seriously._

Harry wrote on his whiteboard, showing Louis quickly before picking his mug up again and settling into the cushions.

Louis watched as Harry's lips pouted into a ring, blowing out cool air into the mug. He kept blowing until he looked satisfied, and then hesitantly raised the maroon ceramic up to his lips. He tipped it slowly, and let the liquid ease into his parted lips. Once he'd sipped some of it, and lowered the mug, he swallowed it and let out a sigh, closing his eyes lazily with a tug at the corners of his lips.

Louis was pleasantly surprised when he tried the hot beverage, having expected it to be too sickly sweet but have a bitter aftertaste. It was better than he thought, and when he expressed that to Harry, the boy seemed utterly pleased with himself. Louis wouldn't admit it openly, but the moments when they sat in silence, just sipping at their drinks, he could imagine him and Harry doing the same thing many years in the future, maybe even when they were old and grey.

It seemed that the storm had calmed as they were drinking, less rain bashing off the window and thunder not being as loud. Louis was chatting away to Harry aimlessly, but he wasn't sure if Harry was listening. He had a smile tugging at his lips though, so whether he was actually listening to the words or just Louis' voice, that was a conundrum, but it was enough for Louis to keep chattering away.

"-And I mean, I was only asking Harley to make sure the music was ready, but she just flipped her shit at me! I was like-"

A loud bang rang through the air, the lights flickering in the house and the rain crashing off the window with more force than before. Louis' words were cut off prematurely from the noise, the lightening following the clap of thunder promptly and lighting up the room. Lighting up Harry's expression.

His green eyes were wide in what could only be described as fear, flickering around the room but always returning back to the window. The gold speckles were wrapped in scare and worry, maybe even some mortification in there too, but the fear was the most prominent. His blinking was quick and panicked. His eyebrows were furrowed into a worried line, creases lining his forehead. His lips were parted, his chest heaving in and out quickly.

When another crash of thunder sounded, Harry flinched, his body jumping under the covers. Subconsciously, his hand flapped around on top of the duvet, searching. It slapped over Louis' hand and gripped onto it tightly, squeezing it white.

"Harry," Louis whispered softly. He didn't want to scare Harry with brash and tense tones, so he kept his voice steady and calm. Harry's eyes flickered over to him when he spoke, his breathing still short and quick. Louis pulled on his hand using their interlocked fingers and brought the boy closer to him. He settled him in his side, letting the warm duvet cocoon them in the warmth and safety. Harry's head was caught on his chest, and Louis' fingers wandered up to those soft curls to rub at Harry's scalp. The action seemed to calm the younger boy a little, but it was soon that Louis realised that the hand that lay on Louis' chest beside Harry's head was shaking with tiny tremors.

"Oh God. Harry, baby, it's okay," Louis reassured. He lowered his head so his quiet voice was close to Harry's ear, hoping that it'd be the only thing the boy could hear so he could block out the scary noises surrounding them.

"Nothing's going to happen, sweetheart. We're safe here," Louis rubbed his back reassuringly and pressed a kiss by Harry's ear.

"I'm here. I've got you, darling; I've got you." The two sat together, bodies pressed against each other's in search of comfort and safety. Harry's shaking had reduced to odd shivers, and the fear in his eyes had melted away to only the gold flecks being covered in fright. Harry had scooted further up so he was sitting more upright, and his head was leaning on Louis' shoulder. Their hands were still intertwined in the middle of them, and Louis kept giving comforting squeezes every now and again. The wind was still wrapping around the windows and whooshing noises still tried to break into the house, so Louis made sure that Harry wasn't concentrating on said noises.

"Just think, babe, in a couple of weeks we'll be in Italy. We won't have to bother with any bad weather like this because it'll always be lovely and sunny," Louis smiled down at Harry, who was peeking from underneath his curls. His eyes lit up at the remembrance, and he sunk back into Louis chest with a content sigh. "Just imagine us, strolling down the streets with the sun on our backs, our hands swinging back and forth, making our way down to the beach so we can sit there all day until the sun starts setting. Maybe we'll bring a picnic down with us, so we can stay there for tea too. We'll have a blanket, obviously, so when it gets chilly we can wrap up together. Sounds perfect, don't you think?"

 

It had been a very cautious conversation, guarded and wary, when the two boys approached Anne to ask about their loosely planned holiday. When Anne was dropping Louis off back home, he'd offered for them to come in for a cup of tea, stating that he and Harry needed to ask her something. He'd sent Harry a cautionary look to check that the timing was right, and although Harry's eyes held some worry, he seemed pleased with the suggestion nonetheless.

Harry had seemed somewhat awed when he walked into Louis' flat. It wasn't anything special, not at all. After all, he lived there by himself so it wasn't big, and it was still rather messy. He apologised for the mess, but Anne had batted that away with a mutter about her Uni days. But still, Harry's eyes were scanning around immediately and getting a feel for Louis' life.

Louis had been the one to ease the conversation into the topic at hand, as they sat around the small kitchen table with tea in cups –but water in Harry's case. When Louis had told them their idea, Anne had been shocked, eyes wide and mouth agape. She'd looked at Gemma in search for a reaction similar to hers, but Gemma only shrugged and offered an encouraging smile. The mother had spluttered out words of confusion and surprise, none really making much sense.

As Louis explained everything calmly and orderly, pointing out facts and figures which he'd guessed would be true, Harry had sat with his green eyes swarming in hope. He wanted her to say yes so bad; he could feel his heart lurching with every noise she made. She could easily say no, after all. Harry wasn't even classed as an adult yet. He knew that she would find it difficult to let him go, they were with each other constantly and with Harry's condition added onto that, she was more protective than anyone.

A sliver of hope was, in fact, Gemma. She'd already agreed to it, Louis had informed him, so they had one more person to persuade his mother. Harry could sense that he'd get a grilling from her that evening to make sure that, even if Anne said no, it was actually what he wanted. He'd tell her the truth, tell her that yes, he wanted to go more than anything: that he wanted to go to Italy, that he wanted to go with Louis, that he wanted to go with his boyfriend, that he didn't mind the fact they'd be alone because he knew Louis would never force him into anything. He'd tell her that he wanted some space, that he wanted to prove that he could be independent and that he and Louis could look after themselves.

It took a lot of persuading, a lot of questioning, a lot of reassuring, a lot of promises, to get Anne to answer definitively. After speaking to Harry in private, maybe even shedding a few tears of pride and worry, she told Louis that yes, they were allowed to go on holiday together. Of course she'd set rules and regulations, and promised that there would be many more to come in the following weeks. The two boys knew that they had to let her do what she wanted, take on what she said, because at the end of the day, she _had_ given them permission over all of her worries and qualms.

She was going to organise everything for them; she said that it'd make her feel better to know exactly where they were staying and that she'd chosen it appropriately. Louis had denied her offer to pay for him, and assured her that he could pay. He wasn't actually sure whether he could pay, but his acting skills came in handy when he told her that it was no bother. He'd find a way, even if it meant trying to wangle his way into Zayn's wallet.

Louis didn't mind Anne doing everything; he didn't mind that they had to ask permission. In some way, it was reassuring. His boyfriend's parent had granted him permission to even just _be_ with him, let alone the fact she'd let him take him out of the country for a few days. It didn't bother him at all that Harry had a protective mother. They had a relationship apart from her, forgetting about the small details that any mother in her situation would want control over. They were an independent couple, they had their own private time which was just theirs and it didn't go past the two of them.

Louis had let the family out, pulling Harry back just before he walked through the door to press a kiss on his lips. Harry had giggled to himself as he walked away afterwards, and Louis felt his heart bubble with happiness. He, Louis Tomlinson, was going to take Harry Styles on holiday; the thought was nothing less than exciting.

 

The couple were still cuddling on the sofa a while after Harry's panic, Harry still sitting snug in Louis' side. The whiteboard was lying on Louis' lap, along with the pen, but neither had been picked up or used. They'd sat in silence for a small while, just listening to the rain. Somehow, Harry wasn't so scared of the heavy lashing when his face was buried in Louis' chest. Louis had chattered a bit in a quiet tone, but the calm atmosphere had settled Harry into normality and he didn't want to break that.  
Louis' right hand had been starting to trace patterns on Harry's shoulder, but with a shudder from the younger boy he had dropped it almost as soon as he had started. Louis could never be sure where Harry was at. Sometimes he was fine with contact, things like hugs and cuddles seemed to be comfortable for him. But light touches were the ones which made his muscles tense. Louis didn't know why that was, he wasn't a psychologist, but he left it just to the workings of Harry's mind. It was a complicated playground, and although Louis wanted to partake, some things were to be left unused.

The serenity was soon broken again though after another, more fierce, clap of thunder and a harsher, almost pink, flash of bright lightening lighting up the sky. The lights flickered, and then turned off with a 'ping' of the metal. The DVD player which had murmured away unnoticeably the whole time stopped with a whoosh. The room was engulfed in darkness, even the light from the window being cut off as the street lights' orange glow turned grey and misty.

Harry had jumped and Louis heard the catch of his breath. It was like time held still for Harry and he was frozen in his tensed position. His shoulders were hunched up and his arms were clamped around Louis' body. His fingertips had automatically gripped onto the light material of Louis' t-shirt. His toes were curled up defensively to match his fingers.

A whimper escaped Harry's lips and fed into Louis' ears. Louis' head snapped down to Harry in response to the small whine of fright. He buried his face right into the crook of Louis' neck so he was completely hidden from the dark cloak around them. Louis could feel the short breaths Harry was taking hitting off his neck. The tanned skin was becoming clammy, but he'd never move Harry from somewhere he found comfort.

"Shit," Louis cursed under his breath. "Harry. C'mon, look at me, please."

Harry shook his head into Louis' body in refusal, another whimper spearing through the silent air. It was such a quiet, solitary noise that seemed to taste so bitter in the air. Louis hated seeing Harry so petrified, it broke his heart. It wasn't the fact that Harry looked so innocent, although that was a factor –but not in those clothes he was wearing, those tracksuit bottoms were hung so low on his hips (well, his body) that Louis found it hard to keep his fingers from tickling over the (they were light blue) boxers that were on show–, but it was how much comfort he needed. He was seeking it from Louis. He _wanted_ soothing mutters and reassuring scalp-rubs. So Louis was happy to provide that.

"M'serious, babe; look at me. It's all going to be alright. Nothing's going to happen to us; we're safe in here," Louis said softly. Harry finally raised his head from the crook of Louis' neck and looked at Louis, his eyes flickering around his face and not meeting his eyes in panic. He shook his head ‘no’.

"We are safe, baby, nothing's going to happen to us, I swear," Louis assured. He cupped Harry's jaw with his hands to keep his face from returning to that coven of comfort. "Are you- are you scared of the dark, Harry?"

Harry's eyes widened and he shook his head strongly.

"Haz- it isn't something to be ashamed of, seriously, we all have our fea-"

Harry shook his head, releasing his grip on Louis' shirt to gesture 'no' with his hands. He scrambled around for the whiteboard and pen which had been lost in the mound of duvet, and wrote down shakily:

_I'm not scared of the dark. I just...don't like it when there's a storm..._

"Oh right...Well, we can sort that out, can't we?" Louis said optimistically.

_The electricity has gone, Lou...we can't really sort it out until the storm is over..._

Louis rolled his eyes playfully, "God, kids these days! Haven't you ever heard of candles? In my day, we–" Realisation dawned on Harry's face, and with a smile, he slapped Louis on the arm jokily to end the Grandma-voice that Louis was mimicking.

"Come on then, show me where these bad boys are," Louis said with a grin, standing up and holding his hand out for Harry to take. Harry took it and let Louis heave him up from the warm confines of the duvet cocoon. Harry didn't deny the flutter in his stomach when Louis kept tight a hold of his hand as they searched the house for candles; it was too much of a heart-warming action to forget about.

 

Once they'd carefully placed candles around the living room, lighting them with the matches cautiously, they settled back down on the sofa. The little candles had created a warm glow to the room, much more authentic than the usual overhead light that blared with bright yellow. They were small flickers of an orange glow, merging together, some of them, to create lighter and darker tones in the room. Some were placed on the coffee table in front of them, some on the counter where the TV sat, and some others on the fireplace ledge.

It was almost romantic.

Neither had taken notice of the time, but their stomachs seemed to be aware of it and rumbled loudly. Louis' gurgle was followed swiftly by Harry's grumbling stomach, making the both of them collapse into a fit of giggles at their in-sync stomachs. Louis had offered to go make them something, although he wasn't the best cook and Harry was considerably better. He could make something simple though, and that was his plan. That was until he tried to turn the electric oven on and nothing happened.

"Oh fuck," he muttered. "Harry, I don't know if you've noticed, but we kind of don't have any electricity," he called through to living room, still fiddling with the knobs on the cooker as if it would magically turn on.

He heard Harry laugh loudly, the sound ringing through the air and travelling straight to Louis' heart to crackle little pockets of joy throughout his veins. Harry shuffled into the kitchen, candle steady in hand, with a smile on his lips. Louis sighed, abandoning the knobs and turning to the handle of the fridge. He opened it and scanned the contents. He felt another presence by his side and saw Harry's hand holding a candle into the fridge to light it up.

They both scrunched up their noses at the lack of ready-made food. Harry used his other hand to rummage around at the back, and pulled out clear containers. The held the candle up to each other, umming and ahhing at the food which lay in them. With one last slice of hope, Harry pulled out the biggest container and held it up to the light. The two made noises of delight and approval at the pizza lying cut up in the box.

Picking up the candle he'd left on the table, Louis followed Harry back into the living room. They dug into the pizza, regardless of its cold state. It was vegetable, covered in green peppers and mushrooms, so it wasn't really Louis' favourite. Harry informed him of his mother's new cookbook, something to do with green foods being healthier, and told him how everything they'd been having was either green or had some green in it and he was sick of it.

It was nearing the end of their make-shift dinner that Louis faced somewhat of a conundrum. That low coiling in his stomach most definitely was not because of hunger, seeing as he'd just consumed half a pizza or more. That curling that pulled softly most definitely was not the need to go to the toilet, because, well, Louis just didn't need a piss. The tingles that were sent up his chest paired with the fact his lips seemed to dry up and his tongue had to dart over them; only left one option.

It was all down to Harry, _naturally._ He wasn't a messy eater, not at all - but don't get Louis started on how Harry ate. It was something which made his heart clench. And _no,_ he didn't have an eating kink either, it was just that Harry ate in a very particular way, a way that was both hot and adorable at the same time, but somehow he'd let a little blob of sauce rest on the line of his bottom lip. If Louis took time to focus on the fact that that incriminating lip was stained red with sauce, he'd have been pouncing on the boy without even being able to stop himself. So he didn't; he kept that thought just behind the one which was eager to be pulled into action.

He could imagine it. Feel it. Taste it.

He could picture the way he'd approach that little dab of sauce. He could imagine the way his tongue would swipe across it and it'd vanish from the pale skin, maybe leaving an orange stain that would need more wetness to be void from the white colour. He could feel the way his rough tongue would smooth against Harry's lip, the way it'd plump out to the side as he put pressure on it. He could-

"Ow!" Louis exclaimed. He focussed on Harry with a frown, rubbing at the sore patch the whiteboard had created. "What was that for?!"

_You were looking at me weirdly..._

"I...no I wasn't!"

_Yes you were, you were being all...dark_

"What do you mean 'dark'? I wasn't!"

_Your eyes were all narrowed and you were biting your bottom lip. Your eyes were a darker blue, by the way, I don't know how you did that but it was really..cool..and...hot..._

Louis gulped. "I was?" he squeaked.

_Yeh, you were. What did it mean? What were you thinking of?_

"N-nothing..." Louis fidgeted. He hadn't realised that he'd been so obviously checking Harry out. From what Harry was saying, it was as if he'd basically just written his thoughts on a banner and pinned it to a motorway overpass.

_Tell me!_

Harry was pouting adorably and- _oh_ , that sauce is still there and- God, he hasn't noticed it, don't please- oh _really_ , Harry? You just _had_ to bite your lip like that?

"It wasn't anything, I- it was nothing."

_Pleeeease tell me! I want to know! I'll keep nagging you until you tell me, and you know how annoying I can get when I want something. So you may as well just save yourself the battle and tell me_

"I..just- you have a bit of sauce on your lip, that's all," Louis choked. Harry's eyebrows furrowed. He lifted his fingers to his mouth and started rubbing at the side of his lips, the opposite side to the sauce.

"Uh no, it's on the other side," Louis said, awkwardness flooding his tone as he scratched the back of his neck.

Maybe Harry was doing it on purpose, but when he switched sides, he started rubbing above his top lip rather than the spot directly below where the sauce lay.

"No, you twat, it's over here," Louis said with a shake of his head. He kneeled up and leant over to reach Harry. He brought his thumb up to the splodge and let it run over it, Harry's red lip so smooth and soft under his thumb. It wasn't his tongue, but it was still enough for heat to creep up Louis' neck. It was as if the previous atmosphere had dissipated into thick tension: sexual tension.

Louis couldn't help but stare deep into Harry's eyes, which were for once connecting with his. He couldn't really tell what Harry was feeling, which emotions lay in the green depths, but they were darkening even without Harry realising. The deeper green made Louis' heart thump in his chest. He hadn't even realised that his thumb was still pressed against Harry's lip; he was so caught up in Harry's eyes.

He leaned in slowly, not even fully realising what he was doing, and peeled his thumb from the scarlet plump. He lifted it to his mouth and sucked it off, still staring at Harry. He moved it over to Harry's cheek where he went to cup his jaw once again that night, but for total different reasons. When his lips pressed against Harry's, there was no protest from the younger boy, only his eyelids fluttering shut. His lips weren't fully flush against Harry's though, they lay a little to the right. He ghosted them over so they were aligned, staying there for a few seconds to just feel Harry's warmth and let the tension fill his bones.

His other hand slid up into Harry's curls, and for some reason, as if the silky threads through his fingers had caused a rush of high through his veins, his feelings seemed to multiply by ten. His fingers clenched and his lips pressed hard against Harry's. His lips were already parted, not closed in a normal kiss like they'd had before. Harry's lips were still stuck together as usual, but Louis' mind urged for more.

He growled into Harry's lips and closed them hungrily. It was almost like biting, how he kept opening and closing his lips over Harry's and pulling them away. It failed to register that this wasn't normal for them, that his actions on Harry were lost as he wasn't reacting. He wasn't frozen or scared; he just seemed to not know how to respond.

It was when Harry's hand gripped onto his hip that he was pulled out of his blur of sexual rushes. He pulled away from, basically, nibbling on Harry's lips, with wide, mortified eyes.

"Oh my God. Shit. Fuck. Harry. Shit. God," Louis let a jumble of curses and incoherent words tumble from his mouth as he sat back on his heels, horrified. "I am _so_ so sorry, Harry. Oh fuck, I've just ruined everything. Please, Harry, I swear I didn't realise I was doing it, don't hate me, please. I won't do it again until you're ready, I-" a hand clamped over his mouth and stopped his babbling.

_Do it again_

Harry wrote, shyly showing it to Louis.

"Huh?" Louis made a noise of confusion.

_I said, do it again_

"But I-"

_I want you to...teach me_

"Teach you?" Louis, almost, squeaked.

_Yes, like..tell me what to do..._

"How to...kiss?"

_Yeh, but properly. Like making out and stuff..._

"You....really?" Louis asked breathlessly. The air had been knocked out of him the instant Harry had asked him to 'teach him'.

_Not like...with tongue though...I'm not ready for that, sorry_

"Don't apologise! Fuck, Harry, never apologise for anything like that, alright?"

_Sure. But I do want to do this_

"You...you don't feel like you... _have_ to, do you?" Louis asked cautiously.

_What? No, of course not. I'd never do anything I didn't want to. I *want* to do this. I want to be able to kiss you properly._

"You're definitely ready for that?"

_Totally. I know it's fast, I mean, I only had my first kiss like last week. But I really like you, and I think I'm comfortable doing it. It's nothing major, right?_

"Well for you it is- wait, that sounded wrong. I just, this is a big thing, Haz. It's a lot to do for someone who isn't keen on much contact. I only want what's best for you, that's all. I need to make sure that you're comfortable with this, the idea of it."

_I am, I swear. I'll be shit at it, I know I will, but that won't be because I don't want to do it, it'll be because I don't know how to. I'll only be awkward because I have no experience in kissing at all, let alone kissing like that, not because I don't like the...feel or anything._

"Are you su-"

_Just shut up and kiss me_

"Right, okay," Louis muttered under his breath.  He leaned in again, kneeling back up so he towered over Harry. He dipped his head so when Harry's head was tilted up, his lips could meet the younger boy's easily.

"You just...follow my lead, okay? And pull away if you don't like it," Harry nodded and craned upwards a little to make their lips meet.

As normal, Louis kept his lips steady on Harry's for a few seconds to let themselves adjust. Slowly and cautiously, he kept the firm press against Harry's lips, but eased his lips open. The movement caused Harry's to prize open, the soft noise of them parting being loud in the silent room. He let their lips stay stationary but open, letting Harry adjust to the change.

When he felt like Harry was ready, he pulled his lips from Harry's and replaced them back on so they changed position ever so slightly. Harry seemed to gain courage, and he copied Louis' movements, sending a surge of pride through Louis' chest over Harry's growing confidence. The gentle smack as their lips parted and pressed together, the little crackle, made Louis' insides churn with heat.

Louis twisted his head to the side, guiding his hand up to Harry's head to slowly direct it the opposite way so their lips could slot together. Leisurely, Louis started moving his lips in the new position, even though Harry wasn't reacting just yet. He seemed hesitant to do anything different, not wanting to do something wrong. But Louis let his thumb rub over the skin of his cheek to urge the boy to take the leap and follow his lead. Harry's lips moved with inexperience, slightly sloppy but cautious at the same time.

As they continued to kiss, his apprehension seemed to fade a little and he had the confidence to twist his head to the side, making Louis be the one to move to accommodate Harry instead.

Finally, Louis eased his lips away from Harry's. The boy's lips followed his until they parted, and he looked up at Louis with big, glassy eyes. His eyes spoke out questions, asking whether he'd been okay.

"You were perfect," Louis said simply, not needing any more words to express how he found it. Harry smiled happily, pleased with himself. With a delighted grin, he reached for his whiteboard and wrote down something. A cheeky smirk graced his lips as he showed it to Louis, no shyness present.

_You think we could give it another go?_

Louis just laughed loudly, and dipped his head back down again with a content smile on his lips.


	15. Saturday 14

**Saturday 14**

They were at Zayn's apartment, the four of them, with a freshly delivered, steaming hot, greasy Chinese takeaway lain out on the coffee table. Zayn and Liam were sprawled out on the tattered sofa, Niall was sitting on the floor, and Louis occupied the –rather uncomfortable– arm chair that made him have to curl into an awkward position to be able to relax but still eat at the same time. The four, surprisingly, were a group who tended to share the meals they ordered, deeming it much more efficient when Liam never ever finished off the Chow Mein all by himself. They'd ordered a lot, too much probably but Niall would no doubt eat it for breakfast tomorrow, and although Louis knew he'd never be able to eat it all, his stomach lurched each time the white cardboard lid was peeled off of each silver tin. God, it all looked so good.

Louis had his reasons for being so hungry, well, kind of. He'd woken up late so had no time to eat and nearly missed his ballet lesson, turning up to it half way through to a disappointed and disapproving glare from Mr. Harbour. With a few of his perfect moves though, Louis had gotten himself back into the teacher's good books soon enough –well, not soon _enough_ because the lesson finished five minutes after the glare had subsided.

The young dancer was glad that the teacher hadn't wanted him to make up the extra half an hour because then that meant a whole lot less – _okay, it wasn't_ that _much less, but shh–_ time he could spend with Harry. It wasn't even like they'd planned the day to do something special; it was just spending a day in the piano room. But somehow, the prospect of that was more exciting than doing something extravagant. Simplicity, less is more, fit very snug in Louis' reasoning. He didn't need to do anything outlandish with Harry to be entertained. Just put a piano in the room and they could spend weeks on end in there. Harry would be thrilled with just being able to play such an elegant instrument and be able to lose himself for as long as he liked in his favourite pastime, and Louis would be thrilled with just being able to sit and watch Harry look so happy.

They'd done just that: play piano. That was all they did. Well, it was more like Harry playing the piano, Louis looking on in awe and joy and on the off occasion, joining in. Oh, and sneaking in kisses between songs; that was another activity.

Somehow, during their time of doing nothing much at all, the two had been so engrossed in the other's company that the small matter of time had slipped their minds. Just after a languid kiss which had lasted longer than most others they had had, a kiss which had left Harry blushing furiously –in embarrassment, lust, or just being overwhelmed, we won't ever know–, Louis had spotted the ticking hands on his tan, thinly strapped, small, wristwatch.

It wasn't late, per se, but it had made Louis late. He was supposed to be meeting up with Zayn, Liam, and Niall to have a kick-about around the park, and then back to one of their flats to order a takeaway.

That was all supposed to happen an hour ago, probably when Louis had crumbled into a state of trance-like emotions from Harry's expert fingers on the keys. But really, who could blame Louis? The pieces Harry could play were truly hypnotising, especially to Louis. Maybe it was because the older boy was truly in awe of the younger which made everything he did so perfect, but he couldn't think of anyone else he would rather get lost in time with. Louis found it hard to restrain himself from pressing kisses of pride all over the boy's fingers.

Through this mesmerisation, Louis had failed to notice the buzzing of his phone that was strewn haphazardly by Harry's satchel. With curses flying from his mouth, he scuttled over to the phone and noted the five unread messages that lay blaring on his home screen. Clearly, the others weren't too bothered that he'd forgotten. Not that that bothered Louis, not in the slightest, it was just how they were. If you were late, you were late, 'nobody really gives a flying fuck' as Zayn would grumble.

It's why he was late which worried Louis.

So Louis had parted from Harry with a kiss on the lips paired with a tug through his curls. Maybe he'd left the boy with reddened lips and a pleased smile on his face, maybe even a blush on his cheeks; that was a very likely outcome of their goodbye. He made his way over to the three boys he called his best mates with a battle of reluctance and keenness in his chest.

 

With the greasy food dished out onto chipped plates, Louis’ stomach settled contently with every shovel of the unhealthy food into his mouth. The conversation had ceased to mutters, the odd outburst from Niall but that stopping quickly after rice had tumbled from his mouth and all the other boys had cringed away from him in disgust.

They were coming to the end of their meal when Niall suddenly let out a booming cackle of laughter. All heads shot towards him, who seemed to be having a whale of a time laughing away by himself. Louis let out a bemused chuckle as Niall set his plate down to pick up his Coke can, but ended up just snorting into the metal cup, the sound reverberating around the room to make it even more obscure.

"What the fuck are you on, bro?" Zayn said in bafflement.

"I- just," Niall squeaked, before letting out another giggle. "I was…remember at the game today, when Li skidded into that granny and his face was like right there in her- sorry, sorry, I need to calm down," Niall said, interrupting himself with another round of laughter. Zayn had caught on to what Niall was thinking and had joined in on the reminiscing laughter. Liam was blushing slightly but it was obvious that he was trying to keep the laughter down.

"What happened?" Louis asked, confused. He wasn't disheartened by the fact that he wasn't included in the joke, more intrigued by it than anything else.

"Liam went to kick the ball, right? And he like did this lunge, which made him skid all the way over to this granny who was at the edge of the field. And, like, his head was just level with her- what should we call it? - crotch? And oh my God, his face was priceless."

Louis laughed at the mental image, a mocking laugh at Liam in slight, which earned him a lunge from over the room from the victim boy and a cuff to the head.

"You should've come, man, it would've been good," Zayn said to Louis once they'd all settled down, a giddy smile on his lips.

Louis stuttered, "I-I know, I just...got a little held up, that was all. Lost track of time and all that."

Niall scrunched his face up, "what were you even doing? I mean, I don't care that you missed it but, like, I'm just curious."

Of course, things couldn't stay under wraps for too long. None of them had asked him anything to do with his whereabouts when he first entered, making him feel a wash of relief. But now that had all gone down the drain with Niall's casual question.

You'd think after the park incident that Louis would be able to freely say Harry's name in front of the three, but somehow that wasn't the case. He'd thought of him bringing the boy up in conversation many a time, imagining the name rolling off his tongue, but for some reason it wasn't as easy to put it into practice. With having to guard the name like it was the most expensive emerald in the world for a long time, he'd gotten so used to keeping the name locked behind his teeth that releasing it into open air seemed so much more risky than it actually was, so much more damaging like the air would dissolve such beauty into grey dust.

"Wait- were you with that mute lad?" Liam thought aloud. His tone wasn't accusing or condescending, which in some way was a relief, but it was void of emotions which somehow made it a lot worse. Was he judging him behind that calm exterior? He vaguely noticed the other two heads turning to face him but he took no notice. Instead, he focussed on the TV which was turned on, casting different shades of light through the room, but the sound at a low murmur which made it irrelevant in the room. It was suddenly the most relevant thing to Louis, it seemed.

"I- I was just...I mean...yeh"

Subconsciously, Louis' eyes had trailed from the TV to the plate on his lap. His fingers had found the fork and were directing it around the plate in a daze-like motion. He was pushing around the scraps of rice and chicken uninterestedly, his eyes blank.

Why did he have to react like that? Why did he have to go all awkward and crawl into his shell as soon as he said it? Why couldn't he have just said 'yes, I was' straight outright?

He shouldn't have had to stutter it out; he should've been able to pronounce their friendship like it was the easiest thing to say in the world. But somehow he couldn't, and he hated that more than anything. He wasn't ashamed of their friendship in the slightest. Maybe beforehand he was wary of it on the basis of what his friends' reactions would be, but now he thought nothing like that. It was an untold rule in his mind that he wouldn't bring Harry up in conversation because the lads obviously weren't best pleased. But that didn't mean, when asked, he couldn't talk about him. What was wrong with him?

It was silent for a good few minutes, everyone in contemplation. Louis didn't dare to look up from his plate, from shame or fear; he wasn't sure. (Shame from his stammering reply, not being ashamed of Harry; may that be known)

Zayn, of course it was Zayn, was the one to tear the cloak of tension which seemed to drape over the room unknowingly. With a cough and a readjustment of himself –for dominance or self-confidence– on the sofa, the boy cleared his throat.

"Look, you've got to let us know what's going on because as far as I remember, you don't blow us off-"

"I didn't blow you off!" Louis exclaimed defensively, looking from his plate to Zayn. “I just lost track of time; it's not like I meant to! And it wasn't even important anyway, like, it was only a footy match; you never normally care, why do you care now?" Louis' eyes narrowed in on Zayn accusingly.

"I care now because it's to do with that fuc-"

Liam interrupted Zayn quickly. "Zayn," he said warningly. "We said we weren't going to say that, alright?"

The raven-haired boy growled in annoyance, rubbing his hands over his face in frustration. "Look, mate. I just don't understand how come you're spending all your time with him when I thought it was nothing serious?"

"I'm not spending _all_ my time with him..." Louis said resignedly, placing his plate on the floor and picking at a loose thread on the cushion.

"Well it's a little suspicious when you're spending as much time away from us as you would with a boyf-" Zayn's eyes widened, his jaw dropping in slight to part his lips. Louis watched with wide eyes as he breathed in deeply, clenching his jaw. "Tell me, Lou. Y'got a secret boyfriend you've not been telling us about?" Zayn's eyes were wide and patronising, judging.

Louis' mind stalled. The racing track of thoughts in his mind's tarmac floor melted into gummy gloop, sticking his thoughts in their place in a millisecond. He could feel his body freeze uncontrollably.

The fact that his body froze was only a crumb of what annoyed Louis. The fact his body shut down at the mention of him having a boyfriend, of him having to admit everything, set frustration lurking in his veins. He wasn't ashamed, Goddammit, so why was his body acting like he was?

He could do this. He could tell them and it'd all be fine. He wanted to show Harry off, he wanted to hold his hand and let the boys meet him, maybe change their thoughts about him. There wasn't a problem; it was just a simple word: yes. Then after that, when they questioned him on whom, he would calmly say 'Harry'. He'd smile, like he always did when he thought or talked about Harry. A little tug at the lips, maybe even a traitor blush dusting over his cheeks. They'd ask why him, why the mute boy. Louis would tell him that they wouldn't ever understand, but just to know that he really liked this boy and he wanted to keep him for as long as the other wanted him. To him, it didn't matter about his lack of speech, because Harry in general made up for that. He'd tell them with pride. Because he was so proud of himself that he'd found such a gem as Harry.

"N-no."

Wait, what?

Louis choked it out, not even realising he'd spluttered the words out until afterwards. He knew his face was covered in panic, inside he could feel mixing emotions of blaring colours fighting against each other.

How had that just come out? It wasn't meant to come out like that at all. It was supposed to be a bloody big YES, not a dowdy little no. He was geared up to say yes; all he wanted to do was scream out his relationship and tell everyone that he was dating the most perfect boy he'd ever seen. But for unknown reasons, his voice seemed to have different ideas. It thought that saying that Harry was the boy he was dating wasn't an option.

If he'd just said, it'd have all been out in the open; it'd all have been over. He wouldn't have had to fight against himself like he had to (well, he didn't _have_ to).

"Really, Lou? You expect me to believe that?" Zayn said sceptically. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

Now was his chance, now Louis could just say he was being a dick before and that he did have someone that was so special to him.

"No, I don't."

Okay, so that wasn't really what he was going for; but technically, he could've been answering Zayn's earlier question about believing him. Zayn knew him like the back of his hand, so of course Louis didn't expect him to believe him; more importantly, he didn't _want_ him to believe him.

"No you don't expect me to believe it? Or no you don't have a boyfriend?"

"I don't..." c _'mon Louis, just say it for fucks sake,_ "...have a boyfriend"

Louis was a second away from slapping himself. His mouth seemed to have a total different mind to his, obviously not working, normal mind. Louis just wanted to bellow out that it _was_ an option to say that he had a boyfriend; actually, it was the _only_ option. He wasn't ashamed of Harry, not in the slightest, but for some reason he struggled saying the simplest of words. All because of his stupid mouth which ran off with itself at the most inconvenient of times.

"My God, Lou. Do you not understand that I can read you like a fucking book? You're lying to me; just tell me that you've got a fucking boyfriend!"

Louis could tell that Zayn was getting frustrated; hell, Louis was frustrated at himself too. Every cell in his body was aware of it, but somehow his voice decided to squeak a little "no" out. His back had slumped down in the chair so his shoulders were level with the armrest, his body hunched and legs having to curl in on his chest. He could almost feel a burn at the back of his eyes, the itch from how annoyed he was at himself. He couldn't stop it, he didn't understand why. It wasn't alcohol, he didn't have that to blame. So what was it?

Fear? But how could fear change how he was acting like alcohol did? Alcohol was influential, fear was just an emotion. Wasn't it?

Louis failed to notice Zayn approaching him, bending down to tower over Louis dauntingly.

"What's his name, Louis?" Zayn's voice didn't have a threatening undertone to it, albeit it was a little harsh, but it wasn't too frightening. Stern was the most relating word, not much softness weaved through his speech but a little less spite.

"I-I'm not telling you..." Louis stuttered.                                                   

"Just tell- wait, so you're admitting that there is someone?"

"I...n-n-...ye-..I"

"Fuck, Lou. We've been best friends for all our lives, why can't you just _tell_ me?" Louis looked up from his lap and into Zayn's eyes. He hadn't meant to connect his blue orbs with the hazels of Zayn's, but somehow he was drawn to them. They were soft, but not hurt. Zayn didn't really do hurt, not in a vast amounts anyway.

"I-I know, you're my brother, Zayn-" Louis dropped Zayn's gaze and focussed them behind the boy and onto the wall behind them which was scattered with oversized photos from nights out.

"Then just tell me his name!"

Without a pause between, Zayn's frustrated words, no little than a few milliseconds, Louis blurted out in exclamation: "Aiden Grimshaw!"

Zayn stalled, "Aiden Grimshaw? You're dating Aiden Grimshaw?"

Louis stayed frozen, stunned that he'd just blurted out said name randomly. He'd just said that Aiden Grimshaw was his boyfriend. Aiden Grimshaw.

He only took in the photo he was staring intensely at when his eyes refocused, blur becoming clear. The photo showed Louis' arm slung around Aiden's shoulders, a drunken grin over his lips and the other boy smiling with similar intoxication. The flash on the camera had brightened their skin to whiter than Louis' usual tan, inverting the photo a little, and the background behind was practically all black. It wasn't the most attractive of Louis' photos, but it was decent enough to be placed upon the 'Wall of Friends' as Niall titled it.

 

Aiden was...eccentric. He was bubbly, but awkward at the same time. Hilarious, sarcasm not being the full extent of his humour. He could be loud, especially when he was drunk, but he mainly just made his way around Uni rather quietly. He was a silent popular; someone who had bounds of friends but wasn't ever thought to be as a main icon in some music classes. A 'dark horse' could be his nickname, although when you thought of Aiden all you thought of was _brightcolourfuljoyful._

He was attractive, of course he was. He was tall and lanky, not that that overly large quiff did him any favours in his height compared to Louis'. He had bright, gleaming eyes, which normally hid behind a pair of thickly black rimmed glasses that reeled off a movie of emotions whenever the boy got even a little bit emotional. It was a surprise that Matt didn't realise sooner.

Speaking of Matt, that's how Louis first found himself on Aiden's lips. The two had known each other since the start of Uni, but were never really that close. Aiden was studying Recording and Producing, something he wanted to take on in the future, so Louis didn't see him except outside of classes, outside of Uni time.

Parties were their main meeting source. Whichever party Louis was invited to, it seemed that Aiden was always invited too. After spotting each other too many times on several occasions, the two boys finally became acquainted over a bad game of beer pong.

So their friendship had been steady for a year or so, not exactly blossoming but growing at the tips every time they met.

But then came Matt. Matt Cardle, with his perfect fucking teeth that were too perfect for Louis to even acknowledge them being real.

Their meetings at the loud, thumping parties had turned into sobbing fests –on Aiden's part– over how perfect the older man was, and how desperate the quirky boy was to tell him that he'd fallen deeply in love with him. After around seven of said meetings, Louis had decided to put a stop to it. He'd spoken to Aiden –thankfully without any more drunken tears– and told him to think of a plan, a plan to win Matt. He gave him a week and a half, the approximate time until the next party, to think of the best plan he could imagine.

Jealously. That's all that Aiden had come back with.

So somehow, with the help of Aiden's big puppy dog eyes, he had found himself agreeing to become Louis Tomlinson, fake boyfriend of Aiden Grimshaw.

He'd told the boys, which had resulted in him getting a punch in the balls from Liam who was saying, "That is the stupidest fucking idea that I have ever heard." Zayn hadn't really passed comment, just telling him to do the fuck he wanted. He teased him about it a few weeks into their 'relationship', Louis' situation finally sinking in. Niall just laughed, finding the whole thing hilarious. He had claimed that he was going to make sure the two had to have as many awkward 'kisses' as possible, just to see Louis squirm. It wasn't that Louis didn't like Aiden, he did, but he wasn't _attracted_ to him, as such. Of course he was a red blooded male and Aiden was a fine looking lad, but he'd gotten so close to the boy that kissing him just seemed the weirdest of things to do.

It had worked though, so all the mocking he had gained for being such a pushover was worth it. Matt had gotten jealous after a month and a half and, in turn, started despising of Louis. This led to an awkward talk between Matt and Aiden, the older saying, "Louis isn't right for you, you're not alike at all. You're chalk and cheese. You're mellow and he's wild. You're quirky and he's just weird. You're calm and he's just mad." Thankfully, Aiden had stopped him babbling as he started chuntering on about Louis being a Chihuahua and Aiden being a Great Dane; Louis didn't think too deeply into that one.

We'll not delve into how Matt had ended up leaving Aiden to go on a trip around the world to pursue his music, and we won't delve into how Louis had somehow found himself at the receiving end of Aiden's rebound sex; the point is, is that Louis and Aiden technically had a history, and it was a wonder whether that history was going to be repeated all over again.

 

It wasn't meant to happen like that; he wasn't meant to say that name. He was supposed to say Harry, Harry Styles. Harry Edward Styles. Harry Perfect Edward Styles. Harry Amazing Perfect Edward Styles. Harry Beautif- _Okay, we get the picture._

Actually, Louis was meant to say yes in the first place, but things obviously weren't going to plan for the Northern lad. He could already feel regret pooling in his heart, that heavy lump at the bottom of his throat which lingered for days and days usually, a reminder of the stupid actions Louis had made. He could almost sense the burning that would start in his ears, creep up the veins in his neck and form a puddle of suffocating, deafening itches. They'd leak inside his ear, burning into his mind and running around every crevice in his brain until he was fully overcome by everything regretful in what he had done.

It was sickening. What he'd done was disgusting, horrendous, heinous –any other word with negative connotations about how despicable he'd acted. He'd acted out in blind confusion of what his body was doing, and he didn't know how he could ever rectify it. He didn't even want to think about the consequences just yet; the thought made a bubbling lava curdle in the pit of his stomach.

And anyway, Louis hadn't spoken to Aiden in at least a month; how the hell was he supposed to convince the boys that he knew Aiden inside out when he didn't even know how he was doing?

"Wasn't he the one you had a fake relationship with?" Liam said with furrowed brows.

Fake relationship. Fake. It was all fake. His words were fake. His boyfriend –imaginary one this is, not his real one– was fake. They thought he was going out with someone he'd pretended to go out with years prior. It was fake then and it was fake now, but they didn't know that. Louis didn't like Aiden then, he'd made that clear throughout the whole debacle, and he sure as hell didn't like him now. How come they hadn't realised that?

It was obvious. If Louis was having so much trouble telling them that it was Aiden, surely that would've made it a tad suspicious? And add that to the fact he'd already been in a fake relationship with the boy, it was a clear that his words were definitely lies...right?

"Oh my God, I love Aiden! Congrats, Lou!" Niall beamed, bouncing up from his seat and bounding over to Louis with a huge grin on his lips.

Clearly, it wasn't _that_ obvious.

Louis turned to burying his face in his hands, curled into his body. He was humiliated. It wasn't supposed to happen like this, not at all. During the course of the few seconds that lay silent after Louis' exclamation, Louis had decided that even though he'd just fucked things up by saying the wrong name (Louis would've chuckled at the thought that it was slightly similar to Ross saying the wrong name at his wedding in Friends, if only he hadn't been practically punching himself on the inside), he still had a chance to get out. He had an escape route and he'd come up with a sudden plan to save himself. The boys were going to work out that it was fake based on their past fake relationship, and all would be well. He'd tell them that it was Harry and then the boys would be shocked, but eventually be happy for him. Because he was happy with Harry.

It didn't work like that, obviously.

Unbeknownst to him, Louis had started muttering, chanting if you like, under his breath a repetitive string of "no”’s. His mouth evidently wasn't done with running away with itself, and it didn't want to switch off the separate mind that it was using to ruin his everything.

He felt a hand rest on the top of his back, in between his shoulder blades. "Hey, Lou, what's wrong? This is good, isn't it?" Zayn's tone was caring and soft. Zayn was the best at filling the brother role; he could be the best comforter around when he wanted to be. He cared for Louis more than anyone else in the world –bar his actual family– and Louis felt the same way back. They'd do anything for each other.

"I wasn't supposed to say that. No, this isn't good, this is fucking shit," Louis strained.

"Oh c'mon, Aiden's a great lad. We like him, you know that, don't worry."

"I wasn't supposed to say that, fuck, I shouldn't have said that. I wasn't meant to say that," Louis was sure he sounded like a nutcase, spurting out random words as his mind was slowly connecting back with his mouth. These were words he was saying in his normal mind, but they weren't supposed to come out. Maybe when he was alone, where he could beat himself up over them, but not in front of the main causes for this problem. But wasn't it good that he was admitting it? That he was coming to terms with everything and was telling them, indirectly, that he had lied?

It was complicated, too complicated.

"Say what, mate?"

"I wasn't supposed to say his name," Louis spluttered out, hands still covering his face and killing his voice to a muffled murmur.

Zayn's thumb was rubbing comforting circles on his back, caring for him. "Why not?"

"B-because it's not right. I'm not supposed to. It's wrong. It's not h-hi-" Louis went to say that it wasn't him, it was someone else. Someone called Harry, not Aiden. He said the wrong thing, that was all, and it wasn't right of him to do so. The name wasn't right, it was all wrong.

But instead, he somehow ended up saying "-how I was supposed to tell you, we were going to tell you together."

He rolled the words off in a bluster of syllables which blended together. It was like his mind was pushing them off his tongue with the world's fastest runner behind, pushing at lightning speed. Like it was eager to get them out, desperate to ruin it all.

"Oh, Lou. That's alright! I'm sure he won't mind," Zayn consoled. Louis couldn't reply; he was biting his lip so hard that that metallic flavour flooded his mouth. It stung poignantly. Louis deserved it.

Niall cackled shamelessly, "Anyway, you can make it up to him through a blowjob!"

And all this time, they seemed to have forgotten about the curly haired boy.  But Louis hadn't.

 

**Sunday 14**

Louis' tongue felt like a heavy weight in his mouth, a weight covered in scratchy sandpaper. His head had a dull ache circulating throughout, a heavy thump as he sat up disorientated. His eyes were blurred and out of focus, but the creak in his back indicated that he had definitely not slept in his bed that night. His bed for the night was more like his kitchen floor, which was sticky with clinging gloop that made him have to peel his hands away slowly to even just move slightly.

He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands, the front being disgustingly gluey. He looked around, sun blinding him momentarily, and took in the state of the kitchen. It was just the same as normal, bar the spillage on the floor and the two empty clear bottles of, wait, what was that?- vodka. Clearly, Louis had been on a warpath and that alcoholic beverage seemed the most pleasing in whatever state he had been in. He didn't want to think about what had happened to make him like that, well, not until he had boiling coffee burning his throat and mind back into sense.

His coffee making was full of stumbles and clatters, but eventually he had collapsed onto the nearest kitchen chair with a steaming mug of coffee in front of him. The smell was already awakening his senses, and thank God it was because he couldn't stand the fuzz over his eyes any longer.

The burning liquid scolded his throat as he swallowed it, the harsh taste combating his stale alcohol addled mind. He didn't push his thoughts along to quicken his retrieval of whatever bad had happened the day before; he left them to gradually return to him as he sat staring into thin air.

As each and every detail pooled into his mind, more blocks of regret and hatred kept being piled on top of the other until it was eventually towering unsteadily from the bottom of his spine to the top of his throat. It was then, as Louis contemplated his disgraceful actions, that he noticed the burning at the pit of his stomach. Whether he passed it off as hurt and annoyance at himself before, he certainly couldn't pass it off as that now. With it rising rapidly, he stumbled from the chair and tipped his head over the sink just in time to release the contents of his stomach. Maybe he reacted like that because of the amount of alcohol he had consumed, but Louis wasn't stupid; he was disgusted at his actions and his body reacted in a way it would with a nasty disease.

After a swig of water to wash that horrible acidic taste from his mouth, Louis dropped his head onto his arms which were clutching at the side of the counter as if their life depended on it. His eyes were tight shut, squeezed with force to dispel the thoughts of what he had done away. With no prevail, he cursed to himself, "Fuck."

He couldn't be a coward; he had to face up to what had happened, even if it was just to his thoughts. He couldn't pretend it never happened, not to himself anyway. He needed to think it through, maybe try and figure out why in _hell_ he had said those ridiculous things.

After he left Zayn's, earlier than planned, he'd numbly made his way to back to his own flat and sat in his living room, motionless, for a good twenty minutes. He'd just sat there, staring, breathing, silent, numb. He couldn't seem to register everything that had happened, it was all a blur.

Had he really just said that his boyfriend was Aiden fucking Grimshaw? Had he just denied that he was dating Harry? Had actually been that much of a prick?

The answer was yes.

And so that led him to trundling along to Aiden's house, a lethargic stumble in his step, to tell his old friend that they were now in a relationship. Seemed simple enough, right?

Maybe not.

It took a lot of explaining to the boy who had answered the door in his pyjamas, a wooly hat on his head, scarf around his neck, and gloves covering his fingers which gripped onto a mug of steaming soup. Louis had chosen not to question the outdoor attire being worn inside and passed it off as Aiden's weird ways, but as he set his foot in the house he soon came to realise that the warm clothes were necessary. The heating had broken, supposedly, so Aiden had to walk around like a, I quote, “fucking polar bear wrapped in a bloody bear which is already wearing a zebra's coat”. Those were the kind of things Louis would have to get used to, somehow.

His intention first was to discuss it with Aiden, get his view on things. He didn't mention that he'd blurted out Aiden's name, just said he said someone else's. Aiden was a bit dumbfounded at first, not sure on what to say. But soon enough, he had the situation understood and was trying to break it down with Louis.

As time went on and the discussion became deeper, Louis turned a little, how should we put it, emotional? If you class emotional as shuddery breaths leading into broken sobs, then yes, emotional was probably the right word. He kept blurting out how he was so angry with himself, how he hated himself so much. He told the other boy about what had happened before, how he didn't know why he'd done any of it. Aiden just listened. He was a sponge, as such. He soaked in all the blubbery words and tears and when Louis needed him to console him, he squeezed out words of wisdom to the boy.

He wasn't so much as angry when Louis blubbered out that it was Aiden who he said he was dating. He was calmer than Louis had expected, conjuring up images of Aiden telling him to fuck off because he couldn't go through with having to fake-date him again. Aiden told him that it was fine, that he didn't mind. It was like he was repaying the debt that he owed to Louis for what he made him do last time; so it wasn't a big deal.

His only concern, however, was how it would affect Louis and Harry's relationship. Obviously Louis wasn't going to tell Harry, because then that meant telling him about the disliking grudge his friends had against him; so that wasn't an issue. It was the guilt that worried Aiden the most. He knew Louis would be eaten up by it eventually, if not rather soon into it. It wasn't like they had to do anything or even act couple-y, so it wasn't like he was cheating, per se. For all intents and purposes, Aiden had to lecture him on the risks he was taking just to keep his friends happy. He told him that if Harry found out, it would all be over for him. He knew Louis wouldn't –couldn't– choose between the two, because both meant the world to him; but he had to know that what he was doing might end up hurting someone.

It hadn't helped all that much, talking to Aiden. Of course it'd settled the side of things which were to do with the boy, but it didn't really help the guilt that was coursing through his veins. His eyes were rimmed red and his cheeks were stained with dried tears clinging to his skin and pulling up pink all over them. He looked a state. When he was weeping drastic measures like "I want to die" in a dramatic whine, it was getting too late for Aiden to deal with. He could only cope with a certain amount of wailing, and he had to get up earlier than he'd like the next day so he couldn't really be dealing with an emotional wreck at that time. When Louis was acting like he was, he was particularly loud. His wails were pitchy and nasally, and his dramatic remarks were so over the top that they turned stupid.

So, with that in mind, he'd shoved two bottles of Vodka in Louis' arms and sent him back home to drown his sorrows in a much quieter way.

That's how Louis found himself collapsed on the kitchen floor and hungover. He was sure that it was past midday; he would never wake up so early with a hangover unless he was forced to, and the emotional strain from last night would've made him even more exhausted. The buzzing of his phone was relentless, but he didn't have the energy to reach for it in its place at the opposite end of the room, lying aimlessly on the floor.

With another swig of water to wash down the two Paracetemol he had just the amount of energy to reach, he shuffled over to his phone and with a groan, picked it up. With unfocussed eyes, he stared at the screen which displayed a few unread messages and made his way through to his living room.

Replying half-heartedly to Zayn's text, and sending an apologetic but thankful reply to Aiden's; he turned to the four which Harry had left, guilt curdling in his stomach.

_From: Harry (9:46)_

_Gooooood morning, good morning, doo doo doo doo doo (That was that song, I can't remember who it's by but it's an old one). Xxx_

_From: Harry (11:02)_

_Loooouis. I'm presuming you're still asleep, yeh? Xxx_

_From: Harry (12:35)_

_Get your lazy arse out of bed right now mister! I want to speak to you. Not that I have anything to tell you, but I just miss speaking to you that's all xxx_

_From: Harry (12:37)_

_Was that too cheesy? The whole missing you thing? I mean, I know it's been like a day or something (Okay, I know it's been less than a day, smartarse) but, idk, I just miss hearing you, that's all. You're my only source of entertainment while Mum drags me around the shops. Did you know, that supposedly, women get up at 7 in the morning to get ready to go shopping?! Astonishing, I know. Thankfully she didn't wake me up and force me to get dressed too early, but still, I find it abominable. Anyway, enough of my blathering, text me when you can, love. Xxx_

Of course Harry had to be so adorable cute that Louis just wanted to smother him in a massive hug and pepper his face with small kisses, he had to be like that when Louis felt worse than he ever had before. It was a horrible feeling, an abhorrent and sickening feeling, but Louis knew he deserved it. He couldn't face the perfect boy when he felt like he did, when he was still in loathing over what he had done. It wasn't like he was suddenly going to be okay with how he had acted, but the wounds were too fresh and adding Harry into the mix would be like rubbing salt on the openings.

 

_To: Harry (12:43)_

_Hey, sorry for the late reply, you were right, I have only just woken up. But I'm up now, although I think I'll probably go back to bed in two minutes because I feel awful. I'm not exactly up to talking, my head is throbbing and I just want to sleep it off; forgive me? :( xxxx_

_From: Harry (12:44)_

_You're sick? Oh Lou, I wouldn't have texted you as much if I'd known, sorry! I feel like such prick, I'm so sorry :( xxx_

_To: Harry (12:46)_

_Oh no, Haz! Don't be like that, seriously, it's nice that you care! Don't apologise, you've got nothing at all to apologise for. Please, don't. I'm sorry I can't cure your boredom xxxx_

_From: Harry (12:48)_

_You just go and sleep off your headache, okay? I'll speak to you later, get well soon Lou xxxx_

Louis whined out loud at Harry's apologies and acceptance. The boy was so sweet and caring and in normal circumstances, Louis would appreciate those qualities, but not when they made him feel so much worse than he already did. He wasn't lying when he said he was ill, because he was –even if it was just a hangover– so that didn't add onto his worries, but it seemed like such a pathetic excuse of a cover up. He didn't want to talk to Harry because of his own doings, and he was using his hangover as a shield. He knew he should just buckle up and face the boy, but instead he hid behind that throb in his head.

He was such a coward.

 

**Monday 14**

Monday came around quicker than expected, especially when Louis had spent all Sunday moping around his house between random sleeps. It wasn't as if he'd sorted out his mind, decided what to do; everything was still as confusing as ever. He still didn't know how to sort things out without hurting his best friends or boyfriend –maybe even both.

It wasn't too much, maybe an extra sprinkle, but Louis had felt guilty for not speaking to Harry for the rest of Sunday after he'd woken up. Because of this, in a rush of self-belief in his ability of ignorance towards events and emotions, Louis had dropped Harry a text late at night to say that he was going to pick Harry up from school the next day.

Pushing aside everything and focusing on the day ahead, Louis was just shy of nervous.It was just his second time going to Harry's school, but this time it was different. Last time it was with purpose to support Harry and make sure he was okay, but this time was with no real purpose at all. Of course he wasn't going to embarrass Harry and wait right outside the gates like a doting mother at the end of a child's first day, but still, students would pass him by. He wasn't arrogant when he thought that they'd know who he was, because some wouldn't give a fuck, but some might remember him from the talent show and he wasn't sure how they'd react to that. There'd been judgemental eyes in their direction and it was more the effect that those eyes would have on Harry which worried Louis more. He didn't want to be an embarrassment or a hindrance to his boyfriend.

The sun was blaring down on the glass of his car windows, heating the car up inside like he were a ready meal. The breeze which was making the trees sway was so inviting as the heat slipped in between the denim jacket which covered his arms and his tanned skin. As he waited down the street from the school, with a few minutes until the end of school, he couldn't resist stepping out of his car to lean at the front. He was aware that it might've looked cliché, especially when the collar of his jacket just had to be turned up or else it'd look too soft of an outfit, but he wasn't too bothered because at least he wasn't surrounded by sweltering heat. At least he wasn't trying to show off his car, nobody would show off a rusty Nissan Micra, anyway. His dark blue and white stripy t-shirt was a godsend when the breeze blew harder, causing little specks of cool air to filter through to his chest and settle in his pores. His hands were in his pockets but one kept reaching out to thread through his hair, pushing up that one little piece which always fell too close to his eyes.

He heard the chatter before he saw the throngs of students filing out. He could see them making their separate ways at the top of the road where the school gates stood, some crossing the road, some going left, some going right. It was a mass of black and white, a sight that Louis didn't see that often. It had been years since he had had to wear said type of uniform, and he wasn't complaining. Having to wear a restraining tie which had two uncomplimentary stripes wound through was never his favourite part of school, and seeing the boys all pulling them loose made him remember that feeling of relief.

It wasn't until he heard loud bounds of boyish laughter that he cracked out of his daze. He looked over to the sidewalk, noticing a group of boys pushing each other in a boisterous, playful manner. He remembered those times with a discreet smile on his face; they were all part of The Good of school. As his gaze roamed over them in nothing but wonder and boredom, he noticed a familiar head of curls hovering behind.

Louis' blue eyes zeroed in on them and finally spotted the recognizable green eyes of Harry's, a comforting sight. Louis was quick in wondering why Harry was with the laddish boys, standing behind them with an expression that Louis couldn't see. It wasn't like Harry was part of that group, from what he could see and from what he knew from previous conversations, and it wasn't like he was being forced either –so that disposed of the flash of worry that Harry was being bullied.

As the boys walked at snail's pace forwards, Louis realised that Harry was fidgeting and bouncing awkwardly on his toes each time the boys stopped to wrestle with each other. The curly mop rose onto his tiptoes, his eyes darting around the surrounding area. From the distance he was away, Louis could still see the way Harry's eyes lit up when he saw him and he could finally see the whole of Harry's face; the way he grinned such a toothy grin may have damaged Louis' heart a little. And no, of course the little bite that Harry made on his bottom lip when Louis raised his hand to wave didn't do anything at all to Louis, nothing in the slightest, not even making him shift his stance a little to accommodate himself.

Louis tilted his head in a gesturing motion to the car, beckoning Harry along. But Harry shrugged, his face scrunching up in distaste as his eyes flickered to the group of boys halting his walking. Louis noticed that Harry was trying to edge by, but with the large group taking up the whole pathway he couldn't squeeze by. Harry probably had that problem a lot; he didn't look like it was a rarity to happen when he looked over at Louis. It was a saddening thought the fact that Harry couldn't even ask to move past the group, and Louis wondered whether he'd ask even if he had a voice, whether he'd be too shy to excuse himself by.

Eventually, Harry extracted himself from the crowd and walked –with a spritely spring in his step– over to Louis, a smile not being able to leave his lips. Louis took the time to take in Harry's appearance; his shirt was tucked messily into his black skinny jeans –accentuating his long torso which made Louis' insides squirm with heat–, his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing off the white skin of Harry's forearms, and that brown satchel hanging off his shoulder. The sight was, well, Louis couldn't not admit the heat which coiled in his stomach from seeing Harry's so dishevelled. When Harry started pulling at his tie, unwinding it from his neck with ease, Louis found it very hard to control his imagination from placing Harry in his bedroom.

Louis stood still as Harry walked closer to him, not sure on what to do. He wanted to go and press his lips to Harry's but it wasn't like the students at school knew about Harry's sexuality. Although he wasn't hiding it, they hadn't bothered to find out so Harry didn't know how they would react. Louis didn't want to overstep the mark.

Harry, instead, took the lead and walked into Louis' arms which were bent from his hands being stuck in his pockets. With a bit of a fumble, Louis pulled his hands out and wrapped them around Harry in a hug, meaning to pull away a few seconds in but halting when Harry's face cuddled into his neck.

"You okay?" Louis mumbled. Harry nodded into Louis' neck and pulled away, a bright smile on his pinked lips. "C'mon, we better brace this car. I'm warning you now, you might die from how stuffy it is in there," Harry chuckled and made his way to the passenger seat, wafting the air and coughing overdramatically when he ducked into the car.

Once they'd settled into the seats and wound the windows down, Louis turned to Harry to see the boy sinking into the seat with a smile. He looked comfortable, settled. A pang of guilt struck through Louis' chest as he saw Harry so happy in his presence, so unaware of the battle Louis was having. He wished it could be as simple as Harry thought it was, and it could've been if Louis hadn't been so damn cowardice.

Maybe the guilt was there _because_ Harry didn't know, because he thought it was all fine. He hated keeping Harry in the dark, not telling him everything. The only secrets he kept were those of the drama surrounding yesterday and that night at the club all those weeks ago, and he hated that they were even there. Their relationship was supposed to be secret free, and the fact Louis was the one breaking that made him want to curl up and hide away forever.

His guilt-ridden trance was broken by Harry's hand waving in front of his face. Louis shook his head of the thoughts, wanting to think of _harry_ and not _harrywhoIliedabout_.

_Can we go for a milkshake? I really want a strawberry one, I've been fancying one all day and the ones at school taste like shit_

"Oh- yeh, sure." Louis gulped, "There's a cafe down the road, right?" Harry nodded in agreement.

Louis shuffled in his seat and turned the keys in the ignition. Just as he was about to start the car into its rumbling state, Harry's hand rested on his thigh to halt him.

_Before we go, can I just do one thing?_

The younger boy's lips were lined with a cheeky yet hesitant smirk, and Louis looked at him with a curious stare. Harry unclipped his seatbelt and shuffled in his seat so he was practically sitting on the handbrake. Louis was silent still as Harry's big hands slipped behind his neck and cradled the back of his head. His breathing was deep and difficult as Harry initiated the intimate moment. Slowly, Harry inched forward and pressed his lips against Louis'. It wasn't as if they hadn't kissed before, but it sent a spark of lust through Louis' body when Harry was the one to instigate it.

After Harry had moved his lips the sufficient amount to fulfil his need, he shuffled back into his seat and clipped his seatbelt in, a quiet, content smile on his lips. Louis started the engine and pulled off from the kerb, silent. Louis could see Harry scribbling on the pad of paper out of the corner of his eye, licking his lips subtly.

Harry said that Louis's lips tasted like strawberry laces, all Louis could taste on his own lips was guilt.


	16. Saturday 16 (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the beginning of the end! xx

**Saturday 16**

Louis wasn't overly spritely, but he _did_ have a slight spring in his step as he made his way from his flat to the Uni. There wasn't much of a reason to be so 'excited', but his limbs felt light and he felt the sparkle in his eye gleam that little bit brighter, even with the lack of reason. Maybe he just woke up on the right side of the bed, and anyway, there didn't _have_ to be a reason for him to be happy; he could be joyful if he wanted to be.

Although, that wasn't really the case. The past two weeks had felt –and he will continue to feel like so until he gets himself out of this mess– like a laborious task from the second he woke up to the second his mind shut down for the night. It was all down to his annoying dose of word vomit when he spoke to his three best mates. He felt like he shouldn't have had a release from the 'torture', though, that he should have been miserable all the time to pay for the awful act he committed.  So with that thought, trying to do at least one thing right –in his mind anyway, being down was the only thing he could do right supposedly–, he was a rather miserable twat unless he was by himself.

Except he was never really by himself. Well, in Louis' terms anyway. He's engrossed himself in _dance_. When he was dancing he didn't feel like he was alone, even when it was in the dead of night and he had had to sneak into the dance studio, regardless of the fact that the place was abandoned. He was with his thoughts, yes, but he was with _dance._ And that was enough to keep him sane. Louis would never really be able to explain _dance_ to anyone, never be able to explain how _dance_ made him feel; it was an unexplainable, almost numinous, product of life.

It wasn't unusual, Louis falling into the abyss of dance, it had happened before. He had had times of succumbing to the barre and mirrored walls. Ever since he had started dancing at –what, eight years old?– he'd known that dance was his release. Even if it was him just being annoyed at Christopher in year 4 for telling the teacher that he cheated on the spelling test, it helped him smooth out those worry-creases. The people close to him were used to it; they put up with it and found nothing suspicious in his actions whatsoever. So they didn't presume that this time, Louis had an awful bout of inner turmoil going on inside his chest.

But somehow, this morning all this anguish had dissipated into little drips of sweat trickling down his neck and soaked into the collar of his skimpy t-shirt. Maybe it from being called at two in the morning and being demanded to drag himself to the dance studio to see Harley and Jordan to, basically, please their drunken minds. They were a little tipsy and for some reason wanted Louis to help them with their dancing, which was horrendous, as confirmed by the story of Jordan being rejected by a girl a few hours earlier when they were dancing. But Louis obliged because he couldn't sleep anyway and the two boys were some of the nicest lads around, so he wouldn't pass up on spending time with them anyway.

Or maybe he was light heated because he was looking forward to seeing his boyfriend.

Okay, so maybe Louis blushed a little every time he said 'boyfriend', and maybe he giggled like a schoolgirl some nights when he got home from seeing Harry, just maybe. He'd never gotten so excited over the term 'boyfriend' before, and it'd been used by him a fair few times already; so it was strange when he suddenly got fluttering butterflies in his stomach all over that one word. As much as Louis found it strange to admit, it was probably just his body's way of telling him to keep a tight hold over this one; that he wasn't just anyone.

That's not saying that Harry was _'the one'_ because, well, first comes first is the fact that Louis didn't even love Harry yet. They hadn't been dating all too long so he would never be able to say said statement for a long while. But he was someone special, and Louis could accept that with his whole heart and not be fearful of it in the slightest.

But then he went and fucked it all up, so maybe he didn't have as tight a hold as he thought.

Back to the present time, though, and Louis had a smile on his lips as he passed through the reception. He threw a wave to Brenda on his way by, sidling into the ballet studio for his lesson which he was surprisingly excited about.

 

Mr. Harbour sure did notice his chance in demeanour and basked in it marginally, taking advantage of it to push Louis over his usual limits. Louis registered throughout the session that tomorrow his legs would be aching like mad, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to care. He wasn't focusing on that; he was thinking about seeing Harry sitting on the little piano stool not too far away from where he was just then.

Why was he so eager to see the boy? It wasn't like he hadn't seen him in weeks. He had, in fact, seen the boy the Saturday previous and again only two nights ago. And this, too, made the anticipation slightly more strange; they were texting constantly and never really stopped unless they _had_ to. After all, they still had many things to learn about each other.

Louis just hoped that his fuck up would not stop him from knowing every little detail about the younger boy.

Louis was meandering down the corridor, trying to disguise his enthusiasm but still make ground to get to his boyfriend a little quicker than usual. He stopped the growling sigh from tumbling from his lips when he felt a hand curl around his bicep to stop him from continuing; he didn't want to come across as rude, even when the person was shortening his precious time with Harry. He turned around with a glare set on his face unintentionally, but soon wiped it away and replaced it with a formal and more polite expression when he saw Mr. Harbour standing in front of him.

"I forgot to ask you; I've got a spare ticket for The Nutcracker show which I'm taking my normal class to, I was wondering if you wanted to come?"

Louis deliberated the decision in his head. The Nutcracker wasn't one of his favourite performances, but he could sit through it and not think of it as a waste. It probably wouldn't cost much, Mr. Harbour had connections with the theatre so could always get cheaper tickets. But it was with his normal class, the class which Louis had been taken out of. He had always felt like they resented him a little for that, that they didn't like the fact he had got special treatment. He didn't blame them; he would feel the same way if it was, say, Stacey or Keeley, so it wasn't a surprise. Therefore, he wasn't too sure whether he wanted to spend long hours being singled out by those people.

"When abouts is it?" Louis asked, not wanting to say no to the idea too quickly.

"Next Tuesday, a bit late notice I know," the older man replied with a grimace.

Well, that was that decided then. Louis felt somewhat relieved. "Oh damn, I'm going away on Monday so I won't be here. Sorry, but thank you for the offer though; I'd have come if it were any other week."

"Well I can change the week of the show if you wa-"

"No, no. There's no need for that; you go with the class and enjoy it," Louis interrupted. He was his teacher's favourite student, what could he say, the man would bend over backwards to get Louis something that would benefit his future.

With a nod and a farewell, Louis let his keenness arise to his top layer of skin and swell in his pores. He strode down the corridor, not finding any deterrent in place to stop him being too eager; he'd lost any sense of self-consciousness from the fact he was a few extra minutes later in seeing Harry.

With a beaming smile on his lips and an overzealous greeting sprinkled with a louder volume than normal on the tip of his tongue, Louis charged through the door to the piano room. He started releasing said welcome but before syllables could form words, the sentence was dropped from his lips and left as a pile of rubbish on the floor.

Harry wasn't there.

Louis couldn't see the body which was normally propped on the small piano seat. He wasn't in sight at all. The dancer tried not to focus on the way his heart had dropped to the pit of his stomach, and he tried to ignore how it seemed all of the organs in him had bunched up in his throat. Louis crept around the piano, trying to catch the boy out if he was playing a game of hide and seek. The thought put his mind at ease: that maybe Harry was just joking around and he was actually there. Alas, Harry wasn't hiding under the piano and he definitely was not in the room.

A frown settled on Louis' eyebrows. It was unusual for Harry to be late. He was always on time, prim and proper. Either it was Anne's doing or it was his need to keep a steady routine which kept him on time. Louis presumed it was the latter; he'd seen Harry be the one to boss Anne around and get her out of the piano room before they were late for whatever they had to do or whoever they had to see.

Shrugging to feign nonchalance and stop looking so possessive –because Louis was _not_ possessive, no, he would never admit to that–, Louis let his fingers trail over the keys in a way to distract himself and pass the time. Harry would turn up eventually; he'd never be _that_ late or miss a meeting, Louis was sure.

 

Harry didn't turn up.

Louis had sat waiting in the piano room for at least an hour before he came to the conclusion that he was going to have to do something about the fact Harry was still wasn't present. It was unnerving not having him there in the piano room with him, which was strange because no more than a mere few months prior was he unnerved by the fact Harry _was_ in the room. Times had changed more than he had expected, but Louis didn't dwell on that too much.

So Louis halted his playing on the piano –which had turned out to be a little less fun with only one set of hands tickling at the ebony and ivory keys– and fished out his phone from his hoodie pocket. He muttered something about 'bloody leggings not having pockets' along the way, wanting to fill the silence of the room with his distinctive thoughts.

Sending a quick message along the lines of _"hey babe, you alright? Just wondering where you were :) xxxx"_ Louis hoped it didn't sound _too_ clingy. After all, if Harry was only just late then it would look like a total overreaction. Harry was normally quite speedy in his replies so Louis assumed that he'd get a reply soon enough, but while he waited, he sat himself on the floor, his back resting on the cool plaster. He didn't want to wear down the piano playing before Harry had even arrived.

Louis sat, phone twisting between his fingers, thinking. The room was quiet, silent bar the muted shuffles beyond the walls. He always loved the room solely for that. Everything was so much calmer, so much more serene than any other room in the building. Even the dance studio wasn't as calm as the piano room, which was a surprise because dance was the ultimate tranquillity for the 21 year old. Louis wondered if it had become a cove of solace more so than before. He had never really focused on it, never pinned down the emotions it made him feel when he was wrapped up in the room. But now, with an extra occupant, it seemed he had become so much more aware of the emotions which floated around the room and bounced off the walls to cling onto his fingertips and squeeze under his nails until they were washed off from the outside world.

As he sat waiting a reply, twenty minutes after sending the message, and therefore twenty minutes of capturing thoughts of mainly just _harry_ , Louis realised that he never had time to _think_ anymore. Of course he had had time to think of miscellaneous and simplistic thoughts sporadically, but he never really _thought._ He had thought about what he did two weeks ago, but that wasn't what he meant. You could think, but then you could _think,_ as mad as that sounds.

He made a bid just then that he would make time for _thinking,_ whether those thoughts would always be about Harry or not, that would never be defined.

It was when he checked his phone for what felt like the billionth time that he realised he would have to do something a little more extreme than just a simple text. He wasn't going to go belt over to Harry's house and demand to see him, no, but he was going to take the bull by the horns and try and find out where in hell the little scoundrel had gotten to.

He stalked out the room and down through the corridor with more ambition than fierceness. His eyes scanned over the bustling lobby where students were flustering their brains in extracurricular activities and mothers were trying to control their children from escaping to look for that head of sleek brown hair. Louis couldn't see Anne's bright smile or floaty attire anywhere, but with little deterrence he took to the main stage area in search of her. The charity concert was to be held there in the evening, and everything was looking like it was going to plan. Bouquets of flowers were stacked by the stage and an endless amount of chairs were standing ready to be placed on the floor.  From what he had heard, the performers from the Uni, along with the children of whom the concert was made for, were ready to go and there hadn't been any glitches so far.

With the concert being that night, it meant the end of Anne's charity work. It meant no more Saturday morning visits. It meant no more 'Harry and Louis time' in the piano room. Now, if Harry wanted to continue the tradition, he would have to ask Anne to bring him with the sole intention of seeing Louis, not it being a side purpose of Harry just joining Anne for the sake of it. It wasn't like they weren't going to see each other ever again all because the Saturday's had stopped, nor did it mean that the piano room suddenly became someone else's meeting place, because both of those statements were highly untrue. Louis and Harry met up during the week anyway, and they could still meet in the piano room if they wanted to.

But it was coming to the end of the Uni year for Louis and Harry had just finished his exams so he was on his summer holidays. So, for one, the facilities wouldn't be in use, and really, they needed to expand from outside the room.

It was almost like the end of an era, as dramatic as that sounds. Louis and Harry would be leaving the place that had changed both their lives; they wouldn't have any needto meet up in the place which they had met and the place in which they had taken the leap over the lava from friendship to relationship. Even though they were bound to return to it, it was daunting. After all, Harry would never last more than a few weeks without his fingers gracing those smooth keys. But the fact still stood that things would be different, a good different though, Louis was sure.

Louis wouldn't lie, it was a little disheartening that Harry wasn't there to spend their last day in the piano room together. Even if he did turn up, it would be full of trying to make up for lost time and Louis didn't want to ruin the lackadaisical atmosphere of the room, the whole meaning of the room.

When Louis stood on his tiptoes and his eyes searched the auditorium, he finally spotted the woman he was looking for. He scuttled over to her where she was sorting out music sheets, sidling up to her with a subtle smile on his lips. Before he spoke, his eyes glanced across the room aimlessly and noticed one of his old ballet classmates stretching on the make-shift barre set up. He remembered the boy's name to be Spencer, a tall, lean, boy with large curls which rattled around as he pranced and danced. He wasn't attractive, well Louis didn't find him attractive anyway. Louis had high standards, what could he say. But seeing this curly haired boy bending over the barre made images of Harry appear in his mind in the least innocent way possible.

He had to shake his head and clear his throat to erase said thoughts, not wanting to cause a problem; after all, he was wearing leggings which left little to the imagination. This clearing of his thoughts pulled the attention of Anne, who swivelled around quickly on the heels of her feet to face Louis.

"Hey!" Louis said brightly, making sure those thoughts were tucked right at the back of his mind to be brought out at a more sensible time than right in front of the boy in question's mother.

Anne stared at him blankly, the fraction of surprise which graced her eyes and then an unknown emotion flashing by when she first saw Louis' face disappearing and being replaced by a similar look to what old-Harry would make. Undeterred, Louis asked the question which held most value over a simple 'how are you?': "Do you, by any chance, know where your gorgeous youngest son is?" his teeth were glinting under the stage lights as he grinned cheekily at Anne.

Louis was expecting a cheeky, snarky reply from Anne, maybe a joking slap on the shoulder to match the wide grin she'd wear; but that didn't happen at all. All Anne did was purse her lips and scrunch her nose up, in what Louis would normally class as disgust. She said nothing at all and turned around back to the sheet music.

Louis was stunned at her reaction, her blatant ignorance. He coughed uncomfortably and stuttered out a questioning "Anne?" With no reply at all to his many attempts which followed the second time he spoke to her, Louis backed away from her with a frown pulled between his eyebrows and pout on his lips. He didn't understand why she wasn't replying to him; it wasn't like it was a complex answer. He thought that maybe an excuse was that she was stressed, that she couldn't bear to think of anything but the concert. But like he mentioned before, it was such a simple answer as to where he was, so how much trouble would it be to just tell him?

He stumbled back to the piano room with confusion stitched into his frown and worry pooling in his blue eyes. He didn't want to think that he'd done something wrong, especially when it would only cause more anguish when he tried to figure out what he had done. There wasn't anything, bar the obvious but that was impossible, which he could have done to cause such a reaction. He had been his usual self on Thursday when he had seen the Styles family: polite and happy with a splash of cheekiness sloshed in there. There was nothing wrong with that meeting at all; at least he didn't think there was.

 

Anne had requested for Louis to go over for dinner on Thursday night and Harry had passed on the message reluctantly. He said that his mother had wanted to cook him a nice homemade meal so they could discuss things. Of course Harry had jumped to the worst possible conclusion and thought that she wanted to have _'The Talk'_ with the two of them before they went to Italy, therefore was disinclined to ask Louis. But as Harry had told him once before, Anne knew that nothing like that was going to happen, and anyway, he was pretty sure that she knew that Louis wasn't a virgin so he would know what he was doing. Sensibly, Louis suggested that it might be to discuss their holiday in, what was then on the Wednesday, five days’ time.

Anne had been in contact with Louis, passing details by him before finalising them. Honestly, Louis was happy to have someone else to do it. He was a generally chaotic person so if he had had to organise it, they would probably have ended up with no hotel room but a million things to do over the course of their stay. Plus, Anne knew what Harry would be comfortable with and she could ask her son first before even consulting Louis about it. The main focus for the holiday was Harry. Louis wanted it to be perfect for Harry; after all, he had never been away just him and a friend before, so it was a big deal. The fact he was trusting Louis to take him out of the country was a massive thing which meant a lot to both of them, so Louis didn't want it to be a flop.

At first, when the first details were being set in place, Louis had had a moment or two of worry. Were they going too fast? Was it all too much? But in the end, he had realised that no, they weren't. Maybe to some people it was a little too fast, but to them it was fine and they _wanted_ to, so it wasn't like they were being forced. Both parties were ready to take the leap and travel, both felt like they needed the privacy. They didn't need the privacy in _that_ way, but they needed to show their independence as a couple to prove that they could work without all the other amenities.

He had turned up fashionably late but his excuse was that he had spilled something on the trousers he was going to wear so he had to change –they didn't have to know _what_ he'd spilled on them. But Anne had been fine about it when she opened the door, mixing bowl in hand filled with some food concoction, a telling sign that he hadn't pushed their meal back too far. He'd only just settled on the sofa next to a texting-Gemma when Harry had bounded down the stairs, curls flying everywhere. He stopped with a halt at the door when he spotted Louis there, and then a sweet smile eased over his lips gradually. Louis had smiled back encouragingly after a 1-second scan of the boy's outfit.

Harry wasn't wearing anything special, nothing fancy was expected anyway because he was in his own house. He had on a thin maroon t-shirt on which dipped a little to show the smooth, pale skin of his chest. Louis had to restrain himself from jumping up and latching his mouth onto those exposed collarbones to suck dark, obvious marks. His legs were lined with black skinny jeans, his legs looking like they went on forever from how thin they were and how low Harry had slung them on his not-prominent hips.

Louis had tilted his head to gesture for Harry to come over to him. Harry wandered over and stood in front of Louis, who shuffled a little closer to the boy and went to wrap his arms around the hips of his boyfriend. When he did, however, Harry tensed visibly, even though it was obvious he was trying to disguise it, and his grin turned into a grimace for a few seconds. Louis winced apologetically and dropped his arms from the boy's waist.

Brushing it off as not to make Harry uncomfortable –or guilty– Louis stood up in the small gap there was between the sofa and Harry and pressed his lips on Harry's. He wasn't expecting much of a response, not a speedy one anyway as he thought he would be able to just pull away quickly, but that wasn't the case. Harry reacted quickly and pressed his lips onto Louis' with equal force, moving them together with more ease than he had before. It was a pleasant surprise, and Louis certainly couldn't complain. Their fluttered-shut eyes weren't aware of Gemma looking up from her phone with an expression unreadable, whether she was disgusted because that was her _brother_ or whether she was in awe because that _was_ her brother, nobody would really know. They'd pulled away with a pop and a blush on Harry's cheeks, and followed Anne's calls that dinner was ready.

It had been a pleasant affair, dinner that is, full of chatter and laughter. Louis felt completely at ease with the family; it was like he'd known them all his life, not only a few months. It had been lovely to see Harry engaging so freely with his family, especially when he had expected it wouldn't be so easy. Harry hadn't exactly been totally okay with his mother when they had first met, not having an overly strong connection, so it was nice to see such warmth. Maybe it was because Gemma was there that Harry was so comfortable. After all, she was his best friend.

After dinner, Anne had pulled out all the pieces of paper and brochures and sat down with Louis at the table. Harry had stayed for the first five minutes but soon enough got impatient and bored and resorted to watching the TV with Gemma; Louis faintly heard the cries of Gemma and a scuffle on the floor, probably over the TV remote from the words Gemma was spurting.

Anne went over the basics: how long they were staying for _–5 days–_ where they were staying – _Caorle–_ how they were getting there – _the plane from Manchester Airport–_ when they were going and coming back – _Leaving on Monday, returning on Saturday morning–_ and other bits and bobs about the hotel and general area.

After close to three-quarters of an hour of discussion, Harry had snuck into the room and wrapped his arms around Louis' neck, his chin resting on Louis' shoulder. He breathed heavily, a soft whistle blowing through the air.

"What's up with you?" Louis asked, sparing Anne a knowing glance. He could see her shaking her head at Harry's antics, but her fleeting look held something more than Louis could register –Louis would later realise that it was something akin to awe and wonder and a large dose of happiness. Harry just sighed dramatically and huffed his thoughts out with hot air on Louis' neck.

"Hey, I don't know why you're complaining, this is all for your benefit, Mister!" Louis scolded playfully, hitting Harry's forearm with his pen that was hanging loosely between his fingers. Harry hummed in Louis' ear and pressed a kiss to his cheek as if to say _thank you._ And honestly, for Louis, that was enough of a thanks that he needed. A simple piece of affection initiated by Harry was more than enough, even if it was the smallest touch ever; it would always be enough.

"Here, I'll finish getting all these sorted while you go keep Harry occupied, why don't you?" Anne suggested. Louis could sense the grin over Harry's lips and the dimples puncturing Harry's cheeks after Anne's proposal, and with that in mind, he couldn't deny her proposition.

Sighing overdramatically, Louis picked Harry's arms off from around his neck and squeezed out of his chair. Chattering a light, "C'mon, you little bugger" through his smile, Louis turned and ruffled Harry's curls, causing the boy to squawk in reaction and scuttle away from Louis' tickling hands which had caught onto his sides.

The night had progressed with Louis and Harry hanging out in Harry's bedroom, not doing much at all. They'd pulled up Harry's laptop and spent the remaining hours trawling through YouTube videos for their own amusement. Of course in between videos –or sometimes even in the middle, that was always a surprise for the other, a butterfly-clan-erupting surprise though– there had been the odd kiss. It was strange, but Louis could already tell how much more confidence Harry had in the way that he moved his lips with much less hesitance than before. That's not ruling out all of the hesitancy because there was some still there, but that wasn't the point. It was _nice_ to have those random kisses sprung upon him which weren't coated in worry on Harry's side when he was doing something wrong.

Anne had knocked gently on the door and told Louis that it was getting late; they had obviously lost track of time so needed some prompting from the kind-hearted mother. Louis had left with an extra-long goodbye kiss from Harry, slipping his hands into his curls in the meantime.

 

As far as Louis knew, he hadn't done anything wrong. Anne had even left him with a warm hug before he left, so it was definitely nothing that had happened on that Thursday. It had only been two days since them, how much could he have done wrong in those two days?

The answer wasn't likely to come to Louis anytime soon, so he opted for pleading ignorant. He created the scenario that there wasn't a second emotion flashing past Anne's eyes and she was running around like a madwoman with stress so that was why she hadn't told him. It reduced the rejection-sting to a mere prick.

But his question of Harry's whereabouts still wasn't answered. The whole point of going to see Anne was to ask about Harry, but then he had gotten sidetracked by all the happenings and extra time had passed, still with no Harry.

Maybe he was ill? Louis thought that was plausible. If Anne was stressed out because of the charity concert, then having a sick son lying in bed at home would only cause more strain. But then again, Gemma was home from Uni so she could fill the mothering role and take a little bit of that heavy weight off of Anne's shoulders. As known, Harry didn't like a change in routine. The Saturdays they were together were something which both of them had become accustomed to; it was strange for them not to happen. So Harry would never interrupt this routine which kept him sane for something trivial. And illness wasn't trivial in Louis' book, and he was sure that Anne would agree with him on that one.

Louis decided that Harry must have been ill. Harry wouldn't tell Louis that he was ill anyway, so that explained the lack of texts. He was probably drugged up on painkillers or conked out on the couch. (When Louis imagined the sight, he pictured Harry with his mouth gaping open as he drooled inelegantly under the heavy hold sleep had over him. It was a cute image, regardless of how people would find someone else drooling repulsive. Louis almost wanted to mother Harry: brush his curls back as he vomited, tuck the duvet up to his chin, turn off the telly when he was truly out of it. The funny thing was, was that Louis could imagine himself doing that in years to come.)

 The curly haired boy wasn't one to proclaim his trials and tribulations; he liked to keep them tucked inside until necessary. Even though they had had serious conversations with emotion-stemmed topics, Harry always kept a restraint on how much he gave away. Supposedly Louis had enough problems to worry about than having to add Harry's 'pathetic' ones on top. Louis didn't think they were pathetic, nor did he think he had that many problems, but he didn't press the boy any further and knew to leave the conversation unfinished.

So with the conjured up picture of a sick Harry fresh in his brain, Louis pulled out his phone and tapped out a message to the boy in question.

_To: Harry_

_Hey, I figure that you're not doing too good, right? It's just your luck catching that bug that's been going round on the first day of your summer hols! Well, I presume it's that bug, everyone I know seems to have had it at some point. If you have that, then I'm pretty sure that you'll be over it by this evening anyway so just keep hydrated and take advantage of free reign over the TV, k? Anyway, text me to tell me that you're alive so I don't die with worry. Get well soon, baby xxxxxxx_

 

It was around five to seven when Louis had returned to the Uni. He left the piano room earlier than he would if he was with Harry, figuring that he may as well make use of the spare time by getting himself ready for the concert. He wasn't performing in it or anything, no; that was the first years' job. But he had to look presentable, especially when he would be sitting by Harry's side who would no doubt look spectacular in his shirt and jeans combo which Harry had shown him via a photo when he was buying them. Supposedly Harry didn't trust his mother's fashion sense too much and needed a more experienced eye's help; so he sent it to Louis, because God forbid, if Louis didn't think the outfit was stylish then he probably wouldn't leave the house with him. (Louis thought that was silly, he wouldn't care if Harry was wearing spots and stripes at the same time– okay, well maybe he'd care a _little._ )

So Louis had done the usual routine he did before going out in the evening for something special: the showering, the moisturising, the hair drying, the clothing, the styling, the aftershave-ing. It would be a tiresome routine for some, but it was therapeutic for the 21 year old boy. Maybe it was a little intensive and over the top for a boy to do, but hey, he was gay; that was always his excuse.

In his rickety old car, Louis had made his way to the Uni. He would have just walked but other than the fact he couldn't be bothered to, he hoped that he could drive to Harry's afterwards to spend more time with him. There wasn't anything special he wanted to do with him, just _being_ with him was fine by Louis.

The hall was packed full with a range of aged people, some young and some old. It was obviously a family event so the screaming children which weaved through the chairs were just standard. He found his seat on the end of the row, hoping that he'd be able to spot Harry when he arrived. Of course Anne would already be there, but he presumed that Harry would be being ordered around behind the stage to get everything sorted so he wouldn't find his seat until the show was just about to begin. In a way, that was a little disheartening because he wouldn't be able to speak to Harry properly and make sure he was definitely well enough to be out of bed, but he could snuggle under the boy's arm if he let him and that would be perfect, too.

So Louis sat and waited until the lights started to dim down and the crowd settled in their seats in anticipation. There was a certain buzz surrounding the place, which made the room feel so warm and homely. Everyone was here to help the little children in need, and that was definitely prominent in the aura of the room. It was uplifting.

But then the show started and Harry still wasn't there. The atmosphere carried him through though, through the extra ten minutes when Harry didn't show up. And then through the added ten on that, and another ten on that. It had been half an hour and Harry still wasn't there. He craned his neck in search for the curly hair but found none that matched his boyfriend's. Anne was waiting by the stage, an encouraging smile on her lips to all the children and performers. But Harry wasn't there either. He wasn't by her side, nor was he by Louis'.

Discreetly - well, as discreetly as you can in a dark room with blaringly bright homepage - Louis eased his phone from his trouser pockets and clicked the lock screen on. A photo of the back of Harry's hair was all that showed up, no little black box with that small green icon. No 'Harry' lighting up the screen with smaller words placed carefully underneath. Louis tried to ignore the twisting in his stomach but it wasn't an easy task. He had sent the boy a few extra _'Hope you're doing okay'_ and _'Are you still alive, little chicken?'_ and _'See you soon, Hazbear'_ texts throughout the hours between his first text and the concert, so Harry must have realised that he had been trying to contact him.

His gut was telling him that something was wrong. Something was out of place, especially when he hadn't heard from Harry in more than 24 hours. He didn't want to seem obsessive, but it was worrying when he normally spoke to Harry every day. His thoughts seemed repetitive, reoccurring from hours prior. But the basic facts were that Harry always replied to his texts, even if he was lying half-dead in a ditch he would reply to his texts. _And y'know what_ , Louis thought, _I'd probably do the same_. He had learned from his mistakes and had turned it into pure _want_ to reply to Harry. Maybe Harry didn't want to reply to Louis anymore, maybe he was sick of him and his flamboyant ways.

The thought made Louis' stomach churn.

The Tomlinson boy just made it through the concert without doing something drastic to his phone in worry. His fingers were always tightly wrapped around it to make sure that he could feel any little buzz and also to keep a hold over his emotions. He didn't want to let his worry get out of hand; it was probably nothing and he was just overreacting. He spent the interval searching for Harry in the crowds which had gathered in the lobby for refreshments. With no luck, he had searched for Anne instead, pushing back the remembrance of her dismissal beforehand. He spotted her in amongst the throngs of people but as he weaved his way through them he lost her in his line of sight.

The next time he saw her was standing by the entrance to the hall with a microphone in her hands, telling everyone that the show was about to commence for the second and final time. Through a gap in the crowd, he made eye contact with her. His breath hitched in his throat when he did, not from the way her eyes seemed unusually drawn in such a situation, but from how eager he was to speak to her. It was unexpected when their glances passed upon each other and Louis didn't want to waste the opportunity. He called out her name and started to push his way past the person in front of him, still keeping his eyes trained on hers. But when he did so, she seemed to snap out of her despondent daze and shape her drained eyes into a glare. With a scrunch of her nose in distaste, she turned on her heel and made her way back into the hall.

Louis stood still for God knows how long. The lobby was empty of people, all but one. Louis Tomlinson stood in the middle wondering what the hell had just happened. He'd never seen Anne act so harshly before, nor had he seen her eyes as anything but warm pebbles of green. But tonight had changed things. He was already as confused as anything, and combined with what had happened earlier and just then, Louis was in total bafflement.

He couldn't wrap his head around what was going on. His gut was still clenching, still pining to be noticed and for Louis to just understand what it was trying to tell him. But Louis didn't want to face up to that; he didn't think it was possible and he wouldn't think it was possible until the words relating to it had been spoken. _How cryptic,_ Louis thought to himself as he refused to mention to his mind what his gut instinct was over the situation.

As Louis snuck back into the hall in a daze, his mind kept repeating that piercing glare. Whilst his eyes roamed over the performance of the three girls street dancing, not really _watching,_ Louis didn't disguise to his brain the fact he had never really taken in consideration what a glare meant. It could mean disgust, he'd had a few of them when he with past boyfriends. You could glare at someone or something to speak your distaste over whatever the matter was; it tended to get the point across quite easily when paired with a downturn of the lips and a scrunch of the nose.

Then there was a playful glare, a one which you did when you were joking with someone. That was similar to a humiliated glare, a one you'd do when you were embarrassed over something. You might be embarrassed, but you mightn't be serious with the glare so you could just be scowling in a joking fashion.

And it could mean hatred. Louis couldn't say he had had many of those, the odd few after a break up or him throwing his sexuality in other people's faces like a scarf spreading over your face as the wind blew.

Louis thought that Anne's was a mixture of the former and the latter. Neither was too pleasing.

The show ended with a loud round of applause and Louis had a distinct sense of nostalgia settling around the crook of his neck, holding him in place and tingling at his bones. He remembered the show not too long ago which he had, somehow, convinced Harry to perform in. The applause for Harry wasn't influenced by his social status; it was simply his piano playing and that was it. It showed how remarkable his talent actually was, that even when he was classed as an outcast, he could still lift the roof with a gift nobody could deny was present in his fingertips.

He was so proud of Harry that night, that he probably wouldn't ever be able to express it. The charity event was similar in that it _helped_ people, and Harry's performance helped _him himself._ Harry had grown in confidence, even if he didn't show it, but deep down there was a seed of confidence planted and it was ready to grow. Louis wanted to be the one to water that seed and let it bloom into a striking flower, as cheesy as that sounds.

Things were a lot simpler back then. Louis would admit that it was down to his doing, but if he was being completely honest, he would never go back to then. Things might have gone differently in relation to the mess he'd created with his friends, but that could also work against their relationship status too if everything was being changed. They might never have gotten together, and that thought was monstrous enough to abolish the other slight changes.

The audience was filing out through the doors, but as Louis' reminisced his way into a daze, he sat in his seat unaware of his surroundings. His head was cast downwards instinctively so maybe he would be thought as asleep, although that would be a tad disrespectful. If he was brave enough to admit it, he would tell people that the corners of his eyes were burning and his tear ducts were straining with unwanted, traitor tears. Louis was never one to get too emotional, maybe when he had had one too many glasses of wine on a night in just him and The Notebook, but he'd never well up over the simplest of things. He had had to keep all his emotions away from his sisters; he had had to be the strong father figure for them and that had settled into him to the point where he was hardly ever emotional around people.

It was probably because he was thinking about how far they had come, how far _harry_ had come, which had made his eyes tickle with tears. _God, pull yourself together, you girl,_ Louis told himself with an ironical chuckle.

He looked up from his lap, blinking quickly to try and reduce that watery film, and around the near-empty hall. He had not been there for too long, maybe a few minutes after everyone else, but with the lack of people circulating, it was much easier to spot the woman which had caused so much trouble in his mind. She had her bag under her arm and her sleek hair floating delicately behind her back as she parted from a group of women with a tired smile. Louis shot up from his seat near the top of the auditorium and called out Anne's name, hoping his wavering voice would reach the mother.

His nimble feet took quick and light steps down the stairs, his little white Converse tapping on each shiny step. Anne's head turned in his direction at her name being called, but instead of stopping like Louis had hoped, she quickened her pace and directed her attention to her phone which was clutched in her right hand. Her boyfriend's mother was already a good distance in front of him, his seat was a lot higher up in the stands than he thought, so by the time he had bumbled out of the double doors to the hall, she was already exiting onto the street.

"Anne! Anne! Wait up!" Louis called as he jogged –running wouldn't be easy in the trousers he was wearing, let's just say that even in the jean material that they were, they were as tight as his leggings that he had worn that morning– through the doors and into the cold, bitter night. For a summer evening, it was particularly cold; the wind whispered in his ears with a spike of chill, and the leaves blustered around in the air like a ghost of lyrical dance was holding them in between its white dusted fingertips.

However, it was as if that certain ghost had whisked up his voice too and not let it pass over to Anne's ears as she determinedly didn't acknowledge Louis' presence or persistence. The brown haired woman was scurrying over to her car which was just a little further down the street, conveniently for Louis it was near to where his car was parked.

"Mrs. Cox! Anne!" he raised his voice to a higher volume to make sure that Anne could hear him, and he was sure that she could by the way her head twitched to the side but she resisted looking back at him. "Why are you ignoring me? I just need to ask you something!" Louis' voice wasn't angered, more inquisitive yet less soft in enquiry. Her steps were speeding up, so Louis matched her.

Anne refused to make any form of contact with him, not even a flash of her eyes over Louis' frame. If Louis wasn't concentrating on trying to catch her fleeting attention, he probably would have felt a mixture of frustration and hurt swirl in his stomach. But no, Louis wanted to speak to her and he wanted to get to the bottom of why she was ignoring him, and most importantly, where Harry was.

She fumbled in her bag messily, presumably in search of her keys, just as Louis was finally catching up. He was no more than a few metres away from her when she finally looked up at him. Her car door was open and her hand was resting on the top of the door. Louis stopped in his place, unmoving, and sighed at her blank expression.

"Just tell me where he is, Anne," Louis said softly. He whispered "please" just as she shook her head in dismay and climbed into the car. The engine started and she drove past Louis without even a glance his way, not seeing his defeated and crestfallen expression.

"I just need to know that he's okay," he whimpered into the cold night. He watched as she drove away, the headlights fading into the darkness. His emotions turned from crushed to strong when a sense of need washed over him. He _needed_ to know what was wrong; he _needed_ to see that Harry was alright. He wasn't going to leave the night without some kind of recognition, however needy that sounded.

So with a new found rooting in his chest to sort out something which Louis still didn't understand, he skidded across the street and clambered into his car. With a roar of the engine, ending in a flat stall, Louis told himself to calm down and started on his journey, trying not to think of how much could have gone wrong all in a few hours.

It was a race against the clock, in some ways. Louis knew that Anne knew that he was going to follow her back to the small home, it was inevitable. Everyone who knew Louis knew that he was persistent, and you could also throw stubborn in there too. The one thing she wouldn't have known about the situation was that Louis was feeling a smidgen of _hurt_ from it all. He was being blatantly ignored, and that _stung._ It was worse being ignored by your boyfriend though, Louis could account for that.

He wasn't reckless in his driving, jumping red lights and being an 'amber gambler', no. But he wasn't exactly careful. Yes, so maybe he did go 10 mph over the speed limit on a few occasions, and yes, maybe he was to blame when took right of way over another car when it wasn't his at all; but it was all for an important cause. He could see the silver car just vaguely, and he wanted to reach it before Anne had a chance to lock him out of their night entirely.

It just so happened, though, that a tractor decided to pull in front of him just as he was catching up to her. He let out a groan of frustration and a hit his fist on the steering wheel, cursing whoever drove such a slow vehicle. In a way, the annoyingly sluggish tractor was a Godsend. It gave Louis the time to think about how he should approach the situation. He couldn't barge in like he owned the place, of course not. The family evidently had a reason for ignoring him so he had to be appreciative of that and he had to approach it with caution. Louis hoped he could do that, not because he was someone who flew off the handle too much, but because when it came to _harry_ he was pretty serious and being so immersed in the boy made his actions a little reckless at times.

When he pulled up outside the Styles' residence, the house had a gloom-like blanket draped over it. The upper rooms were cloaked in darkness, only a small and dull light coming from the corner of the window in Harry's room. The living room had the curtains closed fully but there was a thin line of light showing from where the material had bunched up. It was as if the house was trying to look like it wasn't in use.

 Louis' heart was pounding dramatically in his chest and pumping blood into his ears in thick waves. The engine of his car died out in a regretful rumble and silence overcame him. It was an eerie silence if Louis was to look deeply into it. His gut was straining and his stomach was curdling; Louis _knew_ something was wrong, it was hard to deny.

After he stepped out the car and shook himself, trying to rid of the unwanted nerves, Louis trundled up to the door which he had become so familiar with over the past few months. It was normally a beacon of safety, the warmth and homeliness which he missed so dearly from his own home. It was like it was a third home to him: his home in Doncaster, his apartment in Manchester, and Harry's house. It always felt like _homemadebread_ and _toastedteacakes_ and _eveningsbythefire._ It never felt like _thedownfall_ or _theapproach_ or _theconfrontation._

Maybe Louis was overreacting; after all, he was quite the drama queen at times. In some way, Louis _hoped_ he was overreacting and it was all just a silly misunderstanding. But with that thought came the fact that nothing else around him had changed, nothing had brightened, no contact had been made; everything was exactly the same as a minute ago. If it was an overreaction then he'd have some kind of epiphany about how stupid he had been, and Louis hadn't had that.

Breathing in a deep gulp of air through his nose, Louis closed his eyes for a few seconds to brace himself and only let out that breath when his fist knocked on the door: one, two, three. He stepped down onto the pavement, wringing his hands nervously –and fighting off a sense of déjà vu which really would not help in the situation, reminiscing wasn't made for times like this– and tapping his toe restlessly. He waited a few minutes for an answer but got nothing in the slightest. Hoping that everybody in the house had just not heard, he knocked on the door with his knuckle to make a stronger noise.

Nothing. After more waiting, there was still nothing at all. One thing about their plan to act as if the house was neglected didn't match up, all down to the car that Louis had chased back to the house. It was sitting on the driveway, not hidden and had obviously been parked hastily by its swerved wheels.

Following his fifth set of knocks, Louis had decided that it obviously wasn't the best way to gain access to the house. _God, it sounds like some kind of adventure game,_ Louis thought wryly; it was far from a game to him. And that in itself was scary, things weren't a game anymore. (Not that they ever were, but it was hearts he was playing with now.)

Louis' blue eyes roamed over the door for inspiration on how to catch the family's attention. His eyes passed over the letterbox a few times before he thought of his next attempt. He crouched down so his face was aligned with it, and he just hoped to God that the Styles' were yet to upgrade to one of those fancy letterboxes with the brushes inside.

Thankfully, one thing that night was on his side, and as he lifted up the flap carefully, he could see straight through it, albeit he felt a little obtrusive and creepy doing so. The lights were on in the hallway and he could just about see the kitchen light shining from behind the half closed door. There wasn't any sign of –well, as drastic as it sounds– life, except for the shoes left lying helplessly in a heap by the door. He could spot Harry's Converse lying at the bottom of the pile; he wondered when Harry last left the house.

Feigning nonchalance, Louis called through the letterbox as soon as he spotted a figure flash by from behind the kitchen door: "Hey! It's just Louis, can you open the door?"

There was no reply. "Uhm... it's only me, I know it's getting late but I swear I'm not a murderer or anything!"

Humour obviously wasn't going to work either. "Look, I don't know why you aren't answering the door, but I know you guys are in," Louis sighed. "Will you at least tell me what I've done wrong?"

Seconds, maybe minutes, passed and Louis still had no reply. With a laboured sigh, he let the flap slam shut with an over exaggerated slap and sat himself on the step, his forearms resting aimlessly on his knees and his hands dangling. He had no other ideas; he didn't know what to do. It was obvious that he was being ignored, and even more clear that it wasn't just Anne who had a grudge against him either.

"Just tell me what I've done wrong," Louis mumbled to himself, letting his head thump back on the door. It was beginning to strain at his heart a little more prominently than before, beginning to settle with a heavier weight in the pit of his stomach. The thought of Harry being mad at him was excruciatingly hard to swallow; it was like it was covered in prickles which got lodged in his throat every time he tried to gulp down the thought and keep it covered by mounds of naive ignorance; ignorance was bliss, right?

It was some time of sitting on the step until he had recognition of being there. He didn't know how long it had been because he was so lost in thoughts of every kind, so when he felt the door shudder behind his back, it was a shock to say the least. He jumped up from his position as the door creaked open slightly, ready to face whoever was on the other side. Anne's face slowly appeared from behind the frame as she eased it open, but as she saw Louis standing there with his overly hopeful expression, she went to push the door back closed quickly. Evidently she had thought he had left and was just checking; that, however, was not the case. Louis would wait forever for Harry, didn't she know that?

Reacting quickly, Louis' arm jumped in the way of the door closing and barred it from shutting him out again. "Anne, please, just speak to me," Louis begged, not caring if his voice sounded desperate. Anne seemed to hesitate and stopped forcing the door on Louis' arm, so Louis took this as her going to talk to him. That, however, was not the case. Maybe he was a little presumptuous, but when he moved his arm away he had expected for her to open the door, not _close_ it in his face.

"What?!" Louis spoke out in bafflement and annoyance. "I don't understand what I've done! Why is everyone ignoring me?"

With still no response, Louis carried on his mindless rants, "Just tell me what I've done, for God's sake! I'm going out of my mind trying to think of what I've done and you not telling me really isn't helping!"

Louis' fist banged on the door and he let out a grunt of frustration, venting his anger through his heavy puff. "You've got to speak to me sometime! I mean, we're going away in two fuc- _flipping_ days so you have to speak to me! You can't _not_ speak to your son's boyfriend who is taking him away to another freaking country! I don't see-"

Louis stumbled forward as the door was yanked open from in front of him. He staggered over the threshold from the force retraction and had to steady himself on the wall. "Wha-"

"You are _not_ taking my son out of the country." Anne spoke sternly, her lips pursed together.

Louis' eyes widened dramatically at both her tone and words, they both sounded harsh to say the least. "Wha- why not?!"

Anne just scrunched up her nose and raised her chin a little as if she was looking down on Louis. But that still wasn't an answer; it still didn't take Louis any further in his quest to discover what he had done wrong. Okay, so it did show that whatever he had done was _massive_ because he wasn't being allowed to take Harry away anymore, and Anne wouldn't deny that from him for something small. Harry was utterly ecstatic at the thought of going away; Louis knew that Anne wouldn't want to take that away from him unless it was a last resort.

"You can't just tell me that I'm not allowed to go away with him and not give me a reason! It doesn't work like that!" Louis tried to keep his voice under control and not stoop to the low level of raising it up a notch, but it was hard to do so when he had a million thoughts racing around his head, muttering away and covering his ears in a blanket of words and when his veins were shooting desperation under his skin.

"Well you can't just break someone's heart and expect everything to go on as normal! It doesn't work like that either!"

Louis stilled, eyes locking onto the door behind Anne, fear prickling up his back, and a heavy weight pulling up from his stomach to lodge in his throat. His breath had caught as soon as the words had been spoken and his lips suddenly felt a lot thicker and heavier than normal. Normally, Louis would wonder why that always happened to him, but this time it was like his brain had been frozen and all thoughts were stuck in whichever channel they lay. He could almost feel the blood drain from his face, his forehead feeling lighter and lighter and behind his eyes being obscurely tickled.

"W-what are you talking about?" Louis choked out through the lump sitting awkwardly to stop normal speech. His voice was thick but weak, low but shaky.

"I think it's time you left," Anne ordered strongly. She went to turn to the door, but Louis' hand automatically reached out and grasped at her shoulder. She stared down at it like it was dirt ruining a brand new top, and shrugged it off with a frown of disgust.

"What are you talking about, Anne?" Louis asked feebly. His voice was decreasing in strength each time her spoken words span around full circle in his mind.

"You know what I'm talking about, don't try and act dumb with me," Anne spat. The orbs of her eyes were drenched in detestation and revulsion as she glared fiercely at the young man. She was just radiating _hate_ for Louis.

"I-I don't have a clue, Anne..." Louis murmured weakly. Anne didn't reply, only continued to stare Louis down with a glare which made him want to curl up and hide away. "Can I see him?" He asked quietly and hopefully.

Anne cackled mockingly, "You expect me to let you see him? After what you've done to him? You have _got_ to be joking me!"

Louis sighed heavily, his voice becoming more stable as he spoke; "How am I supposed to know what I've apparently done, when I'm not even allowed to see him?"

Anne's gaze didn't let up, nor did any words from her mouth. She stayed silent and unresponsive.

"Just please let me see him, Anne."

"You keeping me from him isn't going to help anyone. I need to talk to him."

"I need to explain whatever I've done wrong, which I still don't know what it is."

"Don't keep my boyfriend from me; I deserve to know what's made him so upset."

"I'm not going to leave until I know what's happened."

"I _need_ to help him, I'm-"

"Fine," Anne interrupted with a tight and reluctant voice. "But only so Harry can get closure, I don't care about _you_ at all."

Louis didn't think too deeply into her last sentence and only focused on the fact that he could then go and speak to Harry. The thought was daunting, scary, intimidating, and frightening all mixed into one.

As he walked up the stairs slowly and cautiously, all Louis could think of over his loud, pain-filled, heartbeat was the fact that whatever he had done had hurt Harry. Just that thought alone was enough to make him want to run back home and drown his sorrows in a bottle of alcohol.

But no, Louis was going to face up to whatever he had done, no matter how much it was tearing him apart inside. Whatever had made Harry upset was bound to kill him inside, but he needed to know what had caused it and he needed to fix it.

He needed to know what he had done to hurt his Harry, but somewhere in the back of his mind he _knew_ what had happened, he just wasn't going to believe it until it was admitted on that slip of paper.


	17. Saturday 16 (Part Two)

**Saturday 16 (Part Two)**

_Tulips. They were Louis' favourite flower. In a conversation about everything and anything, Harry learned that Louis' favourite flower was the tulip. He loved the way they came in such bright, vivacious colours: pinks, purples, oranges and yellows. He loved the way they were formed, not too dainty like a lily but not too strong like a chrysanthemum. They weren't overexposed, not overrated like roses. They held a simple beauty in the way their petals hid the pollen in a cylinder of silky colour. They didn't stand out too much; they weren't everyone's favourite; they were normally placed in the background to add a block of colour; but Louis thought that they were worth more than that. They weren't to be placed to just fill in space, the different shades had to be mixed in with each other and create a loud but subtle bouquet of beauty._

_So with that in mind, the whole spiel of Louis' reasoning behind his favourite flower, Harry was going to get tulips. Not roses like his Mum suggested because, no, Harry was not cliché. He was just sentimental, and what was more sentimental –and if you're daring, you could throw romantic in there– than buying your partner a bunch of their favourite flowers?_

_Of course, Harry wouldn't deny that when he ordered the bouquet he was grateful for Louis' choice of flower because hey, roses could be quite expensive and tulips were only second on the pricing list. But really, would Harry have bought a different bouquet if the tulips were the same price as that ostentatious bunch of roses? Exactly._

_He was torn, though, when he scrolled through the range of colour combinations, as to which bouquet to go for. He could go subtle, maybe some light pinks, purples, whites, and a splash of darkened pinks. Or he could go bright with yellows, oranges, dark purples and reds. The bunch of just white and a rich pink looked too wedding-like for Harry; he didn't want it to look like he was proposing to the boy. So overall, it had taken him a while to decide on the perfect bunch._

_The florist's shop –Katherine's Florists– was just a small walk away from his house, and with the flowers due to be picked up at 5.30pm, Harry embraced the lovely Friday weather and decided to take the trip by foot. His mother knew the owner of the shop relatively well - well, as much as you can know someone from the odd coffee morning - so Harry wasn't worried about having to awkwardly explain that he couldn't speak. He didn't mind taking trips out by himself, he liked the independence in fact, it was just a little tiresome having to pull out that card which stated his problem and put up with the sympathetic and pitying looks._

_It wasn't overly warm, but enough for Harry to walk through the streets in his three-quarter, turned up jeans and a thin white t-shirt. A light green beanie was crushed over his curls to hide the wild mess they had become along with the fact they didn't exactly look in the most clean condition. His white converse weren't startlingly bright on his feet, but they were clean at least and didn't make him look too scruffy. Overall, Harry was quite pleased with his outfit. Louis would have been proud of his choices, he thought with a hidden grin._

_He wasn't paying much attention to his surroundings as he passed the row of shops, more lost in his thoughts and the music which played through his earphones. After all, Harry wasn't going to pass up on listening to his music when he was wandering around on his own –his mother wasn't a fan of him listening to it when he was with other people, wanting him to be more social and not look as closed off. Of course she didn't mind sometimes; sometimes she knew it was necessary for Harry to seek silence and comfort behind the music because music was Harry's comfort blanket. But she didn't want that blanket to cover him up forever; he needed to be on show for the better._

_Harry entered the shop, pulling out his ear phones and stuffing them in his pocket, the wall of perfume hitting him full on. The flowers in the shop were certainly fragrant, and Harry's nose didn't agree with that too much. He sneezed three times over, eyes screwing shut and nose crinkling up. Thankfully, Harry didn't have a loud and honking type of sneeze, it was relatively quiet and confined, so Katherine wasn't startled too much when his presence was made from said action._

_"Oh, Harry!" Katherine said, scuttling over to Harry. Her pinny was batting at her knees as she made her way over, her arms outstretched. She wasn't young, but then again, she wasn't old. Harry presumed that she was mid-fifties by the way her hair was sprouting the odd grey in amongst the short black crop. Her hands patted Harry's cheeks as a grandmother would a grandchild and she cooed affectionately. "My, you're even more handsome than Anne made you out to be!"_

_Harry blushed awkwardly and fumbled his hands together, fighting the urge to rip her hands from his face and scratch at the skin until the weight that they had placed had been replaced by a stronger feeling._

_"Oh, sorry, I'm making you uncomfortable!" she blustered, pulling her hands from Harry's cheeks and patting her thighs. "Right, so you're here to pick up the Sunday Bunch of tulips, yes?"_

_Harry nodded and rolled back on the balls of his feet. Katherine walked into a room behind the counter and came out holding a bunch of bright colours. She placed them on the counter, fiddling with some of their flower's position to make the bouquet look perfect, regardless of the fact they looked the same to Harry as before._

_"Y'know what, Harry, it's not often that I get Sunday Bunch orders, that collection isn't fancy enough for some people. But I think they're just as beautiful; I mean, look at the colours in there. The red mixed with the light purple, and then those whites dotted around, and they look especially gorgeous in tulips, probably the best flower which suits the Sunday Bunch. You've picked a good bunch there, young man. Whichever girl you're giving these to is a lucky lady!"_

_Harry blushed once again at her final sentence, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly and scrunching his nose up in distaste. The older woman, however, didn't notice his resenting body language and fluttered around the till, totally unaware._

_After paying and sending an awkward smile of thanks to Katherine, Harry quickly made his way back into the sunshine. As his feet trailed slowly on the ground, he stared down at the blooming flowers in his hands. He was overjoyed with the flowers, they were just as he imagined. The way the bright red tulips stood out in the mass of light purple and white tulips looked stunning. A thin, tan, string was tied around the green stems to bunch them together. It was subtle but expressive; just what Harry had wanted._

_Louis would love them, he was sure. Well, more like Harry hoped he would anyway._

_It was in the midst of thinking about Louis' reaction when Harry only just noticed the happenings by the pub he was passing. He had only been walking five minutes or so when he was approaching the pub on the corner, and wouldn't have thought much of it, especially by the way he was lost in his thoughts. But, a certain laugh had pulled him out of his thoughts like a game of tug of war between reality and prospects._

_Harry stopped in his tracks once he had heard said laugh and turned to look at the pub. His eyes roamed around the brickwork and through the small gaggle of occupied chairs. What with the lovely weather, it was expected for the tables and chairs outside to be in use, so Harry made sure to check in every place to see if he could find the face for the noise between all the people. His eyes had landed over the door on the corner and he finally found the source of the laughter._

_A group of boys were sat gathered around the silver, kaleidoscope patterned table on the wooden chairs that were arranged around it. A raven haired boy, who was familiar to Harry but he couldn't quite put his finger on who he was, was stood by the door and was interacting with the group. With his back facing to Harry, Harry could only see the mound of fair hair on the top of the next boy's head so that didn't help him in working out who the boys were. Next was a side view of a bright blonde haired boy. He had on a, as far as Harry could see, Miami Dolphins snapback which hid most of the light locks, but a few peeked out from underneath. Moving on to the next person, Harry saw a boy with a very large quiff. It was different to the familiar boy's at the door, more rounded and a total different colour. The chestnut brown hairstyle paired with the pair of thick rimmed glasses on the boy's nose made the stranger look very quirky. Harry thought he didn't exactly fit in the group very well, but that was just his first impression, so he couldn't judge._

_The next person, though, he was what had drawn Harry's eyes over to the pub._

_Tucked under the quirky boy's arm, his head resting in the crook of the boy's neck, was a feather-haired, bright blue eyed boy. A boy who had smooth, tanned skin. A boy who was wearing a familiar grey t-shirt with a large Ramones stamp printed on it. A boy who was sitting comfortably, cosily, snugly, with the unknown boy. A boy who looked like he belonged under the other's arm, looked like he liked being pulled in by the gangly limbs._

_A boy who Harry had grown far too fond of for the position he was in not to make his heart plummet to the bottom of his stomach._

_Louis._

_Louis was tucked in the side of the boy in a way which couldn't help but make Harry's mind wander into dangerous places. He had a quaint smile on his face, albeit a little taut but Harry's mind could have been making that up; after all, Louis looked like he was sitting in the same kind of position_ they _would sit in._

_But Harry wasn't going to panic; no, that would be stupid. Louis was a generally touchy feely person; it was what he was like. Yes, with Harry that was restrained, but Harry wasn't naive. He knew that just because of his problems, Louis wasn't going to change everything about himself; he would still act the same around other people._

_The boy was just a friend to Louis, that was all. They were just acting as good friends would. Harry knew that. It was silly to even consider thinking it was anything more than that, totally ridiculous._

_A slight graze of the thought to maybe go over and see Louis tore on the side of Harry's mind. It was a possibility, maybe a chance to meet Louis' friends and get to know them. It wasn't like Harry was desperate to meet them, he didn't really care. He wasn't eager for more friends and he wasn't going to make friends through Louis either. If he made friends, he made friends; he would do that on his own._

_So the thought of meeting Louis' friends wasn't much of a big deal to Harry if you bypass the initial social-shock that he always went though. With that in mind, Harry didn't particularly fancy clamming up and making a fool out of himself in front of Louis' friends so he decided to keep his distance; after all, Louis spent enough time with him as it was and he needed time with his childhood buddies._

_Just as Harry was about to walk away, the image of Louis looking content with his friends –and not thinking about anything other than that, for example, that tiny twinge of worry behind his eyes about Louis' faithfulness– being at the forefront of his mind, he caught wind of their conversation. He had been so focused on_ looking _that he hadn't actually been_ listening. _It wouldn't be rude to just tune in, would it? In any case, it was just giving an insight into Louis' life outside of Harry; that was harmless._

_It was then, when the raven haired boy spoke, that Harry realised who it was. Zayn, that had to be Zayn. He had heard a lot about the boy; he seemed cool enough. They probably wouldn't get on too well, Harry thought. Zayn would have been one of the popular kids at school and Harry was the furthest you could get from that. Regardless of that, though, he was still Louis' friend and he wasn't Harry's, so it made no difference to him at all._

_Harry didn't catch what he had said; it was more just a blur of words, so he tuned in a little more to catch the general gist of what was going on. It was harmless, he reminded himself._

_"Oi, loverboy, get your ass over here and help me with these drinks, will you?" Zayn called over to the table. Harry tried to guess who he was looking at but failed miserably._

_"Fuck off, Zayn," Louis laughed. God, Harry loved Louis' laugh. It made bubbles of happiness and delight pop in his chest, made his dimple prod at his cheek._

_"Hey! It's not my fault you can't leave your boyfriend for two minutes!"_

_Boyfriend._

Boyfriend?

_If Harry were to lie, he would say that he was totally unaffected by the word. He would say that he just brushed it off; that he knew it wasn't anything but a silly name call. He would probably say that any other thinking was stupid because the group were just messing around; it was just what they did. Maybe he would crack a smile and pretend that he got the joke, but that was just a maybe._

_But Harry didn't like lying; Harry wasn't a liar._

_Harry was affected by the word._

_Harry couldn't just brush it off._

_Harry didn't know if that was how the group messed around at all._

_And Harry definitely couldn't crack a smile._

_Boyfriend was a...well, it was an important word to Harry. It may sound stupid and it may sound childish, but the word 'boyfriend' held a lot to the curly haired boy. It was a big weight, a big responsibility. It was full to the brim with care, love, lust, want, adoration and awe. It was like a pot of gold; something someone like Harry hardly ever got his hands into. Some were lucky and could dip into said cauldron, but some weren't as fortunate. That didn't mean that their pick of a coin held any less worth, no, in fact it probably held more. Because of the wait, it meant that the choice was more refined, it was more careful and it was more suited to whoever was choosing. Harry had only just gotten his first pick from the word; he had only just been allowed to use such an expensive, worth-full word. So he didn't exactly use the word lightly. If he did, then he would have used up all the inner giggles and outer blushes that came as a package deal with the word, and even though they were embarrassing, he secretly loved the way they made him feel._

_Back to the point though, Harry felt a little bit itchy inside from the word being thrown around so liberally. The copious, joking way it was being used didn't settle well in his stomach. An overreaction it may have been, an overreaction it probably was, but it was Harry and nothing Harry ever felt normally played by the rules._

_All those thoughts rushed by at a million miles per hour, whooshing through his ears fast enough for him to catch the rest of the conversation with little missing._

_Hope. Hope was present at the back of Harry's mind. Hope that maybe Louis would laugh it off, tell him to 'shut the fuck up' or 'piss off, Harry's my boyfriend, not him'._

_Neither happened, regretfully._

_Louis just buried his head in the boy's –of whom Harry was starting to gain a whole lump of dislike towards– neck and spoke something which Harry couldn't hear. Harry suddenly hated the distance between them, hearing what Louis had said may have been the cure for his internal panic. The quiff-haired boy spoke something back to Louis, who then stood up with an overdramatic sigh._

_"Shit, mate, Aiden has you so_ whipped. _You're officially Aiden Grimshaw's bitch._ "

_If Harry thought his stomach couldn't fold over any more than it already had, then he was wrong. He felt his insides twist with hurt and confusion._

_Confusion was the best way to describe all his feelings. The hurt stemmed from the confusion. The fact that he had to make up scenarios in his head to try and figure out what was going on caused him to hurt; he didn't know whether the hurt was necessary or not because he didn't know if his thoughts were true, spreading even more confusion. This lead to the fact that he had no chance of understanding what was going on because he wasn't part of it. Harry felt like an outsider again for the first time in months._

_Aiden, so that was his name. Hm. And Louis was 'whipped' because of Aiden. Aiden, who had just been called Louis' boyfriend by his best friend. Aiden who had Louis snuggled under his arm a few seconds prior. Aiden, not Harry. Aiden._

_Harry was just about keeping in every single drop of emotion but it was a task too heavy when he heard Louis' reply. He was full to the brim; his skin was straining with unwanted upset and his eyes clouding over with everything from shock to hurt. It wasn't like he wanted to believe it, but he had to. There wasn't another option. Yes, he couldn't believe that Louis would do such a thing, but then again, outside of their bubble of LouisAndHarry, how much did he actually know about Louis? Did he know him at all?_

_Another pang to his heart came from that revelation; one revelation too much for Harry._

_His breath had caught and clung to his airways like it never wanted to leave. His body froze up like he had been shocked with an ice gun, stilling every muscle and bone in his body. His head felt dizzy almost immediately from the way his ears felt as if they'd been stuffed with cotton wool balls. His mouth was in a straight line; his lips felt too heavy and too thick to rearrange into a hiding facade. His eyes were burning from behind, a fire of tears spreading in instant reaction. His chest was heavy and tight, his ribs crushing inwards. His skin started to tingle, the back of his neck begging to be scratched away, begging for the waves of emotion to be torn off. His legs felt like jelly, his muscles feeling too light to hold structure._

_His hands were itching to rise up, screaming to lock into his hair and make it pull at the scalp. But at the same time, they were crying out to cover his ears up, block out the world with a plug of silence. Then his fingers felt shaky, the skin in between each finger burning like a fire spreading without warning. It crawled, crept, clambered up through his veins, squirming at his wrist and worming its way all the way up to his neck. Dying to be scratched once again, it never stopped._

_It was that time in a movie when the background music faded into life. It could go either way. It could go depressing, lumbered, cumbersome. Or it could go energetic, staccato,_ happy. _For the ironic factor. It'd be mad; to match Harry's mind which was swirling with circus colours being fought with furiously, leading to the shutting down of Harry's mind eventually. Now._

_His fingers lost their grip on the flowers. They dropped to the floor in silence, matching the way the world had stopped around Harry. A gust of wind attacked them, a few petals blowing off and destroying their perfect form._

_"That wasn't what he said when I was fucking him into the mattress last night, so ha!"_

_And in that split second, perfect didn't seem possible anymore._

It was the usual. Heart pounding, cotton wool ears, lower organs gathering in the throat: the general emotions which screamed nerves and worry. Every step he took up the stairs seemed to add on another stone of agonizing fret. Each time his foot landed on the hard surface, his heartbeat felt like it beat just that tiny bit faster. His throat was straining, that aching pull at the back of his neck which sometimes made his eyes twitch with moisture. Nothing he was doing, none of his actions, were registering in his mind. He was just focused on the swirling tension and anxiety in his knotted stomach.

To put it in a less poetic way, Louis was fucking bricking it.

The walk up the stairs had gone quicker than expected, and soon enough he was on the landing, just standing. Thinking back, he probably should have made use of the short time he had to get up to the upper level, after all, now he was there he had no clue how to approach the situation.

He knew that Harry would be upset, that was an emotion he was sure of. Hurt, as painful as it was to admit it, that would have been another emotion which Harry held in the palm of his hand. Confusion, Louis hoped that would be there. He only wanted it there because then Harry would have some doubt within all the other emotions so he might be able to accept that it was a misunderstanding; whatever _it_ was.

Automatically, Louis had turned and found himself standing awkwardly outside Harry's closed door. He felt tiny standing there. Minute, like an average sized person compared with a giant. Jack and the beanstalk, something like that.

No, it wasn't the time to think of fairytales. Especially when his was crumbling before his eyes.

_Right, okay, it's just a misunderstanding; whatever it is can be sorted out. Harry isn't going to hate you, well, maybe he will, but you'll change that when you explain everything. However bad it is, it can be explained. And then you can tell him how much you like him, how much you need him, how you think that you'll end up falling for him, and reluctantly he'll say the same back and eventually realise that all of this was stupid and you'll be back to normal in no time,_ Louis told himself. Whether he actually believed any of it was a total different matter.

Hesitantly, Louis raised his fist to the door. He knocked twice, somewhat quietly. There was no reply; Louis was used to that today, rejection and lack of acknowledgement was all that he had been getting. It was no surprise.

He knocked a little harder, a speck of hope lingering in the midst of his thoughts that Harry may have fallen asleep and didn't hear his weak questioning knock. Once again, he gained nothing in response. He couldn't even hear any movement inside the room.

"Harry?" Louis' voice was admittedly shaky, embarrassingly so. But at that moment, Louis couldn't really find a care for that. He had more important matters, matters like trying to reach the boy inside the room; his wavering and obviously scared tone wasn't a bother to him just then like it would normally be.

He coughed a little, reaffirming his tone, "Harry? You in there, love?"

_Silence._

As much as Louis hoped and prayed, he knew what they were back to. They were back to _silence_ again, and that thought was like a punch to the gut, a kick in the teeth, and a stab through the heart, all at once.

"Harry, c'mon, don't do this to me," Louis started. "Just let me in, yeh?"

_Silence_

"Fuck, Haz," Louis muttered under his breath in frustration. "I'll just come in myself if you don't answer. It'd be much easier if you just let me in though," he tried to reason.

With no reply, just more _silence,_ Louis' hand gravitated towards the door handle. He wouldn't barge in, that would take it too far, but maybe he could just ease Harry out by showing that he was serious, that he needed to see him. He jiggled the door handle, expecting it to turn the full way around. This, however, was not the case. The smooth turning stopped with a click and the force he was using to turn it was halted by a barrier.

It was locked.

Of course it was locked, that was classic Harry. Locking himself away until things were safe, keeping everyone out so all he had was his thoughts, so he had nobody there who could hurt him.

"Harry," Louis groaned. "Baby, please, just let me in. I need to speak to you."

"Haz, c'mon, we need to talk about this."

"Just tell me what I've done, Haz."

"You can't ignore me forever; I need to know what's happening. I need to sort this out."

"I'm not going to lose you Harry, I need to fix this; I need to fix you.."

His last words were said with defeat and tiredness. His forehead rested on the door and his lips brushed the wood as he grumbled into it, his eyes closed and hand stilled on the door handle. He sunk to the floor, swivelling around so he sat with his back against the door, similarly to how he was outside. "I'm not leaving until I have fixed this, I can't leave.." mumbled Louis.

"Just...just know that I'm not going anywhere, okay, Haz? Like, I'm not going to leave from in front of this door until you've spoken to me, because quite frankly, I'm worried sick and I need to know that you're okay. Forget about what's happened –which I still don't know what has happened, by the way– just if you've forgotten that, I just need to know that you're alright. That you're, I don't know, alive.." His speech was strong at the start but grumbled off near the end, pairing up with the shrug of his shoulders and how he picked at a loose thread absentmindedly.

He had tuned out a little, focusing on the thread which was fraying at the tip. Rolling it around in his fingers, he failed to notice the shuffling in the room and only just saw the piece of white paper appear out the corner of his eye. It slipped under the doorway and Louis left the thread to drop graciously into its messy heap again to pick up said sheet. It was from Harry, obviously, and that thought made his heart pound ever so loudly in his head. He almost didn't want to read the messy scrawl, almost.

What it said, well, it was heart stopping to say the least. And not in a good way either, not at all.

_I'm alive._

_You can go fuck your boyfriend into the mattress now. I'm sure Aiden will make you feel more than alright._

Breath hitches. Stomach clenches. Gulp heavily. Eyes freeze. Limbs still. Fingers curl. Fists ball. Nails dig. Teeth grind. Tongue heavies. Eyes burn. Eyelids halt. Thoughts arrest. Mind collapses. World falls down.

Chants of 'no' tumbled out of Louis' lips without even realising, chokes spluttering like convulsing coughs. His mind was at war with itself, thousands of thought-warriors fighting against each other to stand on the podium of Louis' main thought. None were victorious in such a battle; everything was shutting down before his eyes.

Forgetting about the logistics, about how Louis was sure that Harry would never have had to find out, Louis was totally and utterly shell shocked. He didn't know how Harry had found out –did he even want to know? – but that wasn't the main problem; the problem was that _harry had found out._

Harry knew.

Harry knew about his lies.

Harry was hurting because of it.

Harry was hurting because of him.

Harry was lost in misunderstanding but didn't know that. He thought he knew it all, but he didn't.

Louis didn't know what to do.

For the amounts of times he had run through the situation in his head, he had never once thought it would be this painful. It was like someone was killing him ten times over and never giving him any relief. As dramatic as it sounded, Louis actually felt like his life was crumbling in front of his eyes. Everything which he had built was tumbling down on him and crushing his heart. Because Harry was his life. Harry was everything, and everything was Harry. And Louis could only just register that everything was turning into nothing, all in a split second.

But then, once Louis had realised such a thing, the floodgates had opened. Everything came spilling out in a mess of dry sobs and soggy words.

"Harry- Harry, please, I- Harry, I swear to God it's not like that. Fuck, shit, fucking- I, it isn't like that. Please, Harry, listen to me, I swear. Jesus Christ, I can't- I'm so sorry, Harry. I swear to God, I'm so fucking sorry. I can't believe that I'm hurting you; do you even know how much I'm dying inside because of that? Because of what I've done? It sounds so messed up because, I know, one minute I'm saying that it isn't what it's like and then I'm apologising but I just don't know what to say and I can't even speak properly and I need you to understand before anything because I can't lose you, I can't Harry. Please don't leave me."

It was a jumble of words, an incoherent mess of profanities and apologies, but Louis couldn't stop himself. He knew that no rehearsed speech would have been any more useful, because he was hanging on a thread and his only hope was letting his mouth run away with itself. It had gotten him in this mess, and it would get him out of it. He hoped.

"Okay, okay, look," Louis reaffirmed, a little less wavering in his voice but the shake still present. "I get that you probably don't want to talk to me and you just want me to leave but I really really _really_ need to explain everything. And I know it sounds so cliché, like, I know that, but I swear to the fucking high heavens that it isn't what you think. Because I know you think that Aiden is my boyfriend, but Harry, I would never do that to you. You should know how much I care about you, how much I need you and how much it kills me to see you even just the slightest bit sad. I would never, ever, ever put your happiness in danger on purpose; my life is totally concentrated on you and I don't want anyone else in my life in that way except you, so please just let me explain?"

It was a minute or so of heavy, laboured breathing until Louis got a reply. He had stood up and turned to face the door in his fretting to be sure that Harry could hear him. His words blurred into one as he said them; he was speaking faster than he ever had but his brain was pushing out apologies one after the other and it was hard to control the speed. He needed to get everything across to Harry, and his mind seemed to think that he had limited time. He didn't want to hurt Harry for longer than he already had.

Then, another white slip of paper had slid under the door quickly, as if Harry had pushed it through as if he was close to a hot flame.

_I..suppose so. I mean, it's what you're supposed to do with these things, yeh? Listen?_

Louis sighed heavily. "Harry, it's not- it's not a _thing,_ don't make this a _thing.._ " he murmured to himself, closing his eyes to keep his emotions at bay (well, as at bay as he could in this situation as tears were threatening to fall any second).

"Right, okay," Louis said to himself. "I'm just going to sit down, if that's okay with you? I just. I don't think I can stand any longer because my legs are about to give way." Louis chuckled wryly.

As Louis sat down, he wondered if Harry was sitting on the other side of the door, maybe they would be touching if the wood wasn't in the way. It was stupid, thinking that, getting his hopes up over a small slice of contact that probably would never happen after the conversation. That, added to the fact that Louis was incredibly nervous –so nervous that he could feel his heart beating so hard that it vibrated around his chest–, made the impending explanation a whole lot harder.

"So, okay. Here's the deal. Right- okay, let's do this," Louis heard a bang on the door, presumably Harry telling him to just get on with it. In a way, the ease in which that bantering action was performed was a bitter pill to swallow. Even when things weren't meant to be easy, they just _were_. And Louis had ruined that perfection.

"So- uh, well, y'know the lads, right? Zayn, Niall and Liam, yeh? Well..I just..fuck. Erm, well, basically, they aren't, like, the most open minded people and one day –it wasn't even that long ago– we were, like, eating and just lazing around and shit and, like, they started talking about you. They, uhm, they didn't know we were–are dating, because I. Well..I'm just going to come straight out with it, okay? And I don't want you to get upset or anything because their opinion doesn't mean anything anymore. I mean, I don't give a shit what they think and they just don't understand because they don't know you like I do, yeh? So basically, uhm...they don't really... _like_ you. You've done nothing wrong; seriously, you haven't done a single thing wrong. They're just pretentious, arrogant, ignorant bastards sometimes and they can't see past their own noses. They just...they don't _understand you._ That's all, and I don't want you to think about it because it's totally not a problem and they don't matter in the slightest. I just, I had to tell you now so I could tell you the rest. Believe me, I'd have never told you if I didn't have to; it's irrelevant and total bullshit. I didn't tell them we were dating because I was trying to protect you, and I didn't tell you what they thought because I was protecting you again, too. I didn't want them to say more bad stuff about you, just so you know."

Louis took a deep breath and tried to slow his words down to a more coherent level.

"I..well, now you know that, I guess it's time to continue. So, because of all that shit, when they brought you up, I was really scared. Like, I was really frightened of what they were going to say because I hate hearing them talk about you like that and I didn't want to hear something so..horrible. So they noticed how much time I'd been spending with you, well, not with you as far as they were concerned, and they started questioning me on it. And like me, being the blurter that I am, somehow ended up saying it was Aiden who I was dating. I swear, Haz, I swear to God I was going to say you. I _thought_ I was going to say you but then Aiden's name just slipped out and I still, to this day, have no clue how. I think it was just a bad case of word vomit, y'know?

I regret it every second I'm awake, Harry, you have to believe me when I say that. The fact that I've caused so much pain from being so slack with my words is the worst thing that could have happened to me at the moment. I hate seeing you hurt, even just not hearing from you killed me, let alone realising that my stupidity had caused this. I didn't want you to find out what I'd done, not because I'd cheated on you or lied to you, but because after I'd done it I knew it would mess with you, but it was too late for me to change things. I was just trying to protect you, baby, I swear; it just got out of hand.."

"Wait- I'm not finished, not yet actually. I need you to know that nothing has happened between me and Aiden. I swear on everything I love; I swear, Harry, that nothing has happened with me and Aiden. Well- actually, something _did_ happen but that was years ago. Aiden's just a really good mate of mine. I, it sounds ludicrous, but I pretended to be his boyfriend once to try and make his crush jealous, and it all worked out fine. But then Matt left and I suppose I was the first person Aiden thought of and we might have had sex, but it didn't mean anything then and it doesn't mean anything now; it was years ago; it's over. We haven't done anything since; a hug is as far as it went. I guess that's why I said his name in the first place, after the initial refusal of saying yours, that is. The lads knew about that; they knew nothing had actually gone on, so I thought that maybe they would realise, y'know? I thought that they knew me well enough to know that I've never fancied him in the slightest."

"It's not an excuse, I know. But I just need you to understand that this is a whole misunderstanding and that I haven't cheated on you. I haven't been harbouring a secret boyfriend; I haven't been- ugh, fucking Aiden, but I have been totally devoted to you. It sounds so corny, there's a song with that in, right? But it's true, I've never looked at anyone else except you, and I just want you to know that. It's not what you think, none of it is, well, except for our relationship that is...if there even is a relationship anymore..just, basically, Aiden was like a 'pretend' boyfriend whilst...well, I don't even know what it was while, but he was and yeh, I'm just really fucking sorry."

It was silent for while after he spoke. He felt deflated, exhausted because he had just poured his heart out into a puddle on the floor, and he didn't know whether it would dry up or Harry would splash in it to scatter it into lots of little drips. His throat was sore, aching, from holding back the tears. It was hard to admit everything, spill everything which he had kept in for so long.

He didn't want pity though; that wasn't why he was admitting that it was hard. He bet that Harry didn't want pity either; Harry wasn't like that. He didn't want to be sympathised with, given that awkward smile and pat on the shoulder. It made things harder, Louis supposed, because it meant that it was hard to judge how to act around Harry. If they got past the whole debacle, he wouldn't want to act like nothing had happened because that would just be dismissing his wrongdoings, but he didn't want to focus on them or else Harry would be getting hurt more and more and they would never be able to move on.

What was Louis saying; he didn't even know what Harry thought of the situation. It had been silent for a good amount of time, well, it felt like that anyway. Louis wasn't going to push it, though. Harry would speak to him when he wanted to; that way he would know what Harry was really thinking and not the product of anger or hurt.

It was another bundle of minutes later when Louis heard movement behind the door. His mind struck a twinge of hope that maybe Harry would open the door, but he covered that with a black towel straight away. He wasn't going to get his hopes up; he didn't deserve to have any hope at all, he thought.

Slowly, almost unsteadily, another piece of paper appeared from under the door. A nerve coated lump was lodged awkwardly in Louis' throat as he picked it up with shaking hands.

_Why?_

One word. That was all. Just one word. Various scribbles were blotted out on the page, but it was that one word which stood out as the chosen question. It was a scary word, then; it was. Full of promises and knockbacks, dreams and broken fairytales. It could easily be coated in lies, like a trap door to get out of a sticky predicament. Or it could be used to tell the truth, to escape fairly and honestly.

Louis knew that he needed to fight this battle fair and square. If he was to keep Harry, or at least fight for him as best as he could, then he would have to lay all of his cards on the table.

"Because...because I'm a coward," he stated simply, dejectedly. "Because, for once in my life, I cared about what people thought. I was scared of being branded as something untrue. I was scared of having to explain myself to the people who should know why from the top of their heads. I was scared of finding out that they weren't supportive of me, of us. I was scared of you being discriminated against.  I was scared of you having to put up with that and think that I wasn't as worth it as you thought. I was just _scared_."

With another added dose of silence, a slosh of tension, and a pile up of anxiety, Louis waited for Harry's reply. He really hadn't held back; he had thrown everything out there. Yes, he may have contradicted himself explaining _why_ he said Aiden's name when he said he didn't mean to, but that was how it was. He didn't mean to say Aiden's name, but he didn't change it afterwards, like he probably could have, because of his cowardice. It was complicated, far too complicated. He hoped that Harry would be able to work it out; that he would be able to sort out the mess that _Louis_ had made and get them back on track. Louis was supposed to be the teacher, help Harry out in this relationship because of his lack of experience, but now it was Harry's turn to take the reins; the ball was in his court.

The next message was the most painful. Louis could imagine Harry saying it; imagine the look on his face as he slowly wrote down the words. Maybe Harry would have been worrying his bottom lip and his eyebrows would have been drawn together strongly. Or maybe he would have tears in his eyes –that was a killer shot through the heart– and he would be blinking them away constantly, having to use the back of his hand to wipe away the moisture and not let his guard down.

Any image was a heart throbbing one, it couldn't be avoided with the words that were on the paper.

_Are you ashamed of me?_

A sob broke through Louis' mouth in an attempt to finally be released. No tears had fallen yet, they would be saved for his own privacy, but the sound couldn't be held in any longer.

He wanted to say that he didn't know how Harry could have come up with such a conclusion, but regretfully he did. Unbeknownst to him, he had given off that vibe when inside he felt the complete opposite. _This_ was the time that Harry had to listen to him, Louis concluded, Harry wasn't allowed to believe that for another second longer.

"Fuck, Harry, I- _no, just no._ That's just- _no._ I don't want you to ever say that again, alright? I- do you know how much it hurts to hear that? Because it's fucking ripping me apart right now, the fact that you think that. I could- I could _never ever_ think that. I'm probably the proudest person of you apart from your family, Haz. I'm the furthest away from ashamed that you can be. I know, I know it sounds like I was but I swear to God I was not, and I am not, ashamed of you. I want to be able to parade you around and hold your hand and kiss you in the middle of the street and everything like that, and we _can_ do that because I have nothing against it. I just- I don't want _you_ to be. I know that you're already insecure about this and I don't want you to be ashamed of us because of your insecurities.

I know this has nothing to do with the situation, but if we're on the topic of shame then I suppose I should bring it up. I don't ever want you to feel undermined or insecure about us because you are- were, maybe– the most steady thing that I have –had– in my life and you don't understand how much I need you. I always knew that you were there and that you would help me, because you're just like that, so I would never ever be ashamed of having someone like that in my life. Please, Harry, believe me when I say that I'm not ashamed of you, because you should _never_ think like that. We're not..we're not in love yet, but I think I could fall for you Haz, and I..- this has nothing to do with the conversation at all so why am I even saying this? I'll just shut up now..yeh..just-yeh..I'm not ashamed of you in the slightest."

Louis was on the floor, his head falling forward into the gap between his legs where his knees bunched up, when he had finished. It was draining, emotionally, mentally, physically. He felt exhausted from trying to prove his point, and even more exhausted over trying to work out whether his point had been proven. It was hard to work Harry out normally, let alone with a wooden door in between them.

He sat for a long while, so long that he wondered if Harry had fallen asleep. He was aware that he probably wouldn't get a reply from Harry. Nothing had been given so far and the wait had solidified that thought into an ice cube sliding down the back of his neck. It was painfully cold, his heart maybe.

He had a period of listening intently for any movement in the room. Wanting to know what was happening, how Harry was feeling. Alas, he heard nothing. Maybe there was some hope that when movement occurred, then so would the opening of the door. Louis hoped to see Harry before he left –whenever that would be; he would camp outside his door forever if he had to, at least it would be warm in the house rather than on their doorstep– and try and work everything out; but by the way things were heading, it didn't seem like that would happen. With no contact even by paper, it was unlikely that face to face contact would happen.

Louis had been waiting at least half an hour by the time he heard footsteps on the stairs. He lifted his head, eyeing up Anne through his glassy and tired eyes. He understood, now, why she hated him. He would hate him too if he were her. Essentially, Louis had cheated on Harry in her eyes, and even though that wasn't true, she didn't know that. Unless she had been listening in, which wouldn't be unexpected and Louis wouldn't have minded either. Her face was worn out, tired, and Louis couldn't quite place what she was feeling. She didn't look as stony as she did before; her glare had dissipated, but she wasn't as welcoming as she used to be, either.

"It's getting a little late, don't you think? Maybe you should leave..." her voice wasn't cold, but it wasn't soft; it was emotionless.

"Can I...just wait a little longer?" Louis' voice was croaky and thick, full of emotion.

Anne shook her head softly, "I don't think so, Louis. I think it's about time you left."

"But, Harry..." He practically whimpered.

"Louis, it's time to leave," Anne stated a little more firmly but still had a softer undertone than to sound forceful.

Louis mumbled aimless protests under his breath but they soon collected into a heavy sigh of defeat. His head knocked the door with a small bang as he dropped it back. He closed his eyes, drinking in the moment and gathering his thoughts. He didn't want to leave, but he wasn't going to object to Anne's orders any more tonight.

"Can I just-" Louis gestured towards the door as he stood up, and Anne nodded in acceptance.

Louis cleared his throat awkwardly and straightened out his creased clothes. "Right, uh, well, I have to go now, Haz. I'd stay if I could but, uh, I think I've overstayed my welcome anyway," he said as glanced back to Anne who was pretending to be uninterested in his speech.

"Uhm, so, I guess you've heard everything now and well- I hope that it's cleared everything up and you'll consider taking me back. Not that we've broken up or anything, at least I hope we haven't, but I get why you're mad at me. I mean, the basis of it is that I've fucked up and I've hurt you, and it's okay for you to feel like that. I just hope that you can forgive me, because I really need you, Harry, and I don't even want to think about what life will be like without you. It sounds dramatic, I know, but I just don't want to lose you, y'know? But I get it if you can't forgive me; it's understandable. So, well, we're supposed to be going to Italy on Monday and I know your Mum doesn't want us to go, but things have changed now and you've got more to consider. I'll, uh, be waiting at the airport for you, so if you don't come then I know that this is over and yeh...I- uh, guess I'll see you, then, Haz. I'm sorry, again; I'm just really fucking sorry."

His words had turned into a whisper by the end, his voice constricting and not letting any more noise come out. He didn't want it to sound like a goodbye; it wasn't a goodbye. He wouldn't let it be. Monday would be a big day, he knew that, but he wasn't going to give up, regardless of how defeated he sounded through his words. There was some fight left in him, even if it was small enough not to be heard through his voice.

After a minute of collecting himself, his hands bracing the door frame to keep him upright, Louis turned around slowly. He looked at Anne, sending her an apologetic look. There was no doubt that he was expressing how sorry he was, everything was written on his face. He started to walk away, his feet dragging reluctantly.

It was the click which should have made him turn around, but he thought nothing of it. He was past the point of his mind running properly. It was probably just the fiction of his mind, he thought.

If he had looked behind, he would have seen Harry's face peek out a slight gap in the door. He would have seen the messy hair, the baggy clothing, the bitten nails. If he had looked for even longer, he would have seen the blotches of pink, the red rims, the chapped lips.

It wasn't until he heard the drop on the floor, felt the weight behind his knees, and heard the returning click, that he turned around. His eyes darted to the door firstly, but dropped to the floor in sorrow when he saw that it was still deathly shut. They trailed slowly, after he had shut his eyes for a few seconds to regain composure, along the floor until they had come across the object which had hit him with beaten force.

That was what had started the waves of emotion to finally crash behind his eyes: the fact that there wasn't a slam, that there wasn't any dramatics, that it was just defeat. Louis had choked up, sobbed loudly and finally let the tears fall. They tumbled, fell, sprinted down his cheeks and pooled in a pond of hurt wherever they could. His sobs were loud, wracking his body. He tried to muffle them with his hand which had locked over his mouth, whether that was there to actually stifle them or as a reaction, that was unsure.

Because on the floor was a box.

A present.

And on the top of that present was a piece of paper.

The paper was covered in hearts and swirls in pinks and reds. It was handmade, full of thought and effort.

And in the middle of that page were four words which ripped Louis' heart out and stamped on it with everything they had. They were the words which made him run down the stairs and out of the house in fright and fury at himself. The words which he should have known, that he would have known if it wasn't for the mess he had gotten himself in. The words which meant everything would have hurt that little bit more for Harry, so a whole lot more for Louis.

_Happy One Month Anniversary!_

Happy one month anniversary, indeed.


	18. Monday 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter before the epilogue. I decided to just post it all in one night because I'm rubbish at the updates. Enjoy! xx

**Monday 16**

The airport had a deathly chill floating around, slipping in between different people, young and old. The air was stuffy with emotions: excitement, anticipation, emotional farewells, fear. It was hard to piece together when you had been sat there for hours, watching one child bouncing up and down in happiness one second and then watching a wife cling onto her husband with tears streaming down her face the next. The contrast was astounding. It's not often realised, but people watching was somewhat underappreciated. Especially during times of trepidation and worry.

Louis was bunched up on the cold, metal chair with his legs brought up to his chest. He hadn't been on the chair for too long, three quarters of an hour at most, but his backside was starting to go numb from the hardness of the seat. He wished that the airport could have been a little more helpful in times like so, maybe have more comfortable seating, however, he doubted that they had many wayward young adults moping around the airport for long amounts of time. He probably could have stayed at home for a while longer and stayed curled up on his sofa like he had the past however many hours.

Because Louis hadn't done _anything_ during the time between his departure from Harry and the present moment. Well, he had been to the toilet and slept a lot, but the thought of doing anything else just brought a thick lining to his throat and a curdling in his stomach. Not only did he have no energy to move from his foetal position on the sofa, but he didn't have any motivation either.  It was hard to find that little something inside of you which makes you do things when everything around you seemed so bleak and provided no light to help you find it.

The whole day was excruciatingly difficult. Time ticked by slower than usual, however cliché that sounded. It was like every minute was multiplied by ten, making the time he was awake drag on more than it ever had.

What made it worse was the feeling of the unknown. If he knew what was coming, if he knew what was going to happen, then the time would have gone quicker –however slight it was. He didn't have anything to look forward to, or anything to _not_ look forward to, more like. Of course, Louis didn't have high hopes for that Monday. Half of him knew that the chance of Harry actually turning up was next to nothing, a quarter of him refused to believe that, while the other quarter was still in disbelief. He didn't want to face up to what had happened the night prior because even skimming over the top of it made his heart crash down in his body and shatter into shards of torment.

As he curled in on himself defensively, at whatever time it was during the day, Louis wondered what Harry would be doing. Usually, on a Sunday, he would have Sunday Dinner with his parents at either 2pm or 7pm, depending on the activities of the day. He never normally did anything on a Sunday, using it to catch up on schoolwork or just laze around. If everything hadn't happened like it had, Louis wondered if Harry would be packing his suitcase for their trip.

Wait–no, Harry had packed on the Thursday night because he had nothing better to do, so it probably would have been final checks that he had everything. Louis had packed at the same time, just so they could experience the task together. They texted back and forth about certain bits and bobs which they weren't too sure whether to bring or not, clothing, toiletries and miscellaneous items included. It was fun, exciting, lots of anticipation swirling around. Harry had commented many a time that he just couldn't wait to be alone with Louis, that it was a chance he wouldn't let slip through his fingers. Louis wondered if that still applied, most probably not.

Instead of that, though, Harry was probably acting just as Louis was, although a lot more hurt and with a lot more thinking to do. Louis thought it was fair, giving Harry the option to either turn up at the airport and continue their relationship or not turn up and it all be over. He was doing it for Harry's benefit; after all, it would only hurt Harry more if the fiasco was prolonged for even longer. Harry had more than a day to consider everything which Louis had told him, add on his opinions about his explanation to the base ones he made in reaction to finding out. Louis thought that that was enough; after all, Harry could be determined about things once he had set his mind to it. It wasn't too complicated for him; he just had to decide whether Louis' mistake was forgivable or not. Okay- so maybe it was complicated. But still.

The thinking time didn't exactly _help_ Louis, though. It didn't straighten out his thoughts or make him see sense, because, really, he already had seen sense the second he knew that Harry had found out. It was the opposite; it didn't make him feel better at all. He wallowed in regret and a small chunk of self-pity, but mainly in sorrow. The river of his emotions was polluted with how sorry he was that he had hurt Harry, tainted and murky. It was the one thing which he promised that he wouldn't do, hurt Harry that is, and he did it without even realising it. That thought alone made him sob even more brokenly.

It took a lot of strength to even wake up on Monday morning, but the remembrance and tingle of hope at the base of his neck gave him that small push to actually _move._ He didn't dare look in the mirror to see the sunken eyes, chapped lips, heavy bags, because that would make everything more real. He would see firsthand what his mistake had done, and he would immediately imagine Harry with those same particular side effects. That would probably push him over the edge and back into the ocean of pent up emotion, which he couldn't afford to happen if he was going into civilisation within the hour. He had to keep up appearances, for...well, he didn't know whose sake, but someone's at least.

He took the bus to the airport, prolonging the time he could be vacant for. He caught sight of his reflection in the window, noticing the lack of glint in his eyes. He didn't want Harry to see him in such a state, but he didn't know how to recuperate and act like everything was fine when it blatantly wasn't.

He didn't want to feel sorry for himself; it didn't feel right when he was the hurter, not the hurt-ee. He didn't deserve pity, he knew that, but he couldn't stop himself from letting that small slice of self-pity weigh on his back.

He just wanted it to be all over; he wanted the mistake to be gone and his Harry back where he belonged, with him.

 

The final check in time was 11:45am, but Louis had gotten there at 9:30am, purely down to wanting to be there just in case Harry turned up early. Just in case, there was not much expectance in there.

With around an hour and a half to wait, Louis' mind was starting to numb. He was losing faith every minute, a little dusting of it being brushed off with every happy person who strutted by.

He hoped that Harry would be happy without him-

_No,_ Louis thought, _don't think like that._ If he was going to be strong, he would have to keep his thoughts at bay until after the final check in. Harry could turn up, there was still time. He didn't want Harry to turn up and Louis to have given up, no; that could make him change his mind if he saw how pathetic Louis was. No, Louis wasn't going to lose Harry; he couldn't afford to. He needed him.

That, just before, showed how contradictive his mind was. One minute he was on the verge of giving up, the next he was full to the brim with faith that Harry would turn up. He couldn't seem to find a happy medium. Both sides had their cons which screamed selfishness and, really, Louis wasn't a selfish person, however much his mistake claimed that he was.

He just wanted Harry to be happy. With him, yes, but if not with him then all he wanted was for Harry to be paired with contentment. If Harry decided that Louis wasn't worth his time and he was better off without him, then, after some battling on Louis' part to try and save any last shred of their relationship, Louis would leave Harry to be happy. Because Harry deserved to be happy; he always had and he always would deserve that. Louis had said that from the very beginning and he would say it to the very end, maybe even beyond that.

Louis shuffled around a bit on his chair and pulled his coat tighter around his chest. The constant breeze from the automatic doors opening and closing, along with the constant stream of people, made a bitter chill bite at his exposed neck. He didn't want to have to bring a coat to the warm country, and he almost threw it to the side before he had left the house, but instinct told him to bring it just in case. Now, he was glad. He had been waiting for long enough to cause his teeth to chatter, even more in this case when tiredness was present.

It was a surprise when his phone started buzzing in his pocket, sending vibrations through the metal bench. Louis fished it out, fingers scrambling in and around his tight jean pockets. He couldn't deny the breath-catching thought that the text may have been from Harry; regardless of whether it was good or bad news, it was still _Harry._

Except it wasn't Harry; it was Zayn. How ironic.

Louis sighed in disappointment, as bad as that sounded when Zayn was supposed to be his very best mate. In all honesty, he couldn't help but resent the other twenty-one-year-old, even though he knew that, technically, it wasn't Zayn's fault. He hadn't _intentionally_ been ignoring any of the three boys' calls- well, actually, that was a lie. He hadn't exactly wanted to speak to anyone other than Harry, and if pressing that red button whenever their names flashed on the screen was the only way he could do that, then that's what he would do. He also was reaping the benefits of living alone; the lack of human contact necessary was at bare minimum, if not zilch. Thankfully, the lads were too lazy to call around and never came banging on his door for his attention. Louis was grateful for that; they would most probably have ribbed him for looking such a state, because Louis Tomlinson would _never_ let himself go like that.

Hesitantly, Louis opened the text from the boy for the first time in over a day.

_From: Zayn (10:11)_

_Hey m8, u up 2 mch 2day? was wonderin if u wantd to meet me n th lads @ the bar l8r? mayb gt smth 2 eat b4?_

Louis cringed at the text speak. He had always hated that and tried to make Zayn convert to normal words, but alas, the boy refused. It was so much easier, so much more interesting, too, texting Harry because it didn't take you half an hour to work out what he was actually trying to say. Well, if you forget about having to _Google Define_ half the words he used, that is.

Another reason he cringed was because of Zayn's total dismissal for his lack of presence –but Louis wasn't too sure whether he wanted to be questioned on it or not– and the fact that he knew that Louis was going away that day but still texted him to ask to meet up. Yes, Louis knew that one was able to forget sometimes, but he didn't want to have an excuse for Zayn because, well, just because.

 

_From: Louis (10:12)_

_I'm busy today, you know that._

_From: Zayn (10:14)_

_Oh so ur alive r u?_

_From: Louis (10:16)_

_Oh shut the fuck up Zayn_

_From: Zayn (10:17)_

_Wats gt ur nickers in a twist? God lou lighten up, i ws jst jkin_

_From: Louis (10:18)_

_Well now isn't exactly the best time, alright?_

Louis was frustrated and agitated because of Zayn's blatant ignorance. He obviously wasn't picking up on Louis' loud cries of wanting him to just leave him alone. Whether Zayn was doing it on purpose or not was another matter in itself. Being so riled up, when his phone started to buzz and play his ringtone, he answered it without even glancing at the caller ID.

"Hello?" Louis' tone wasn't harsh, as such, just a little gruff from the early morning, lack of hydration and general negative mood in his pores.

"It never is 'the best time' now, though, is it?"

Zayn.

Well, Louis should have seen that one coming. He must have been in one of those incredibly annoying, persistent moods and Louis had stupidly not realised that; now he would have to be put through the whole rigmarole of decreasing said pushiness.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Louis said in an exceedingly bored tone.

"You've been such an ass these last few days and it's pissing me right off!" Zayn answered with stern backing tone.

"I beg to differ," Louis stated simply.

"Well don't, because it's true! You're being a complete dick for no reason at all!"

"I've hardly spoken to you, mate. I don't know where you've gotten that idea from," he sighed, readjusting himself on the chair with a clang of the metal on his coat clinking off the seat.

"That's my fucking point! You've been ignoring me for no reason!"

"Shut up, Zayn, you're just shit stirring. You don't know anything," Louis spoke tiredly, rubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers. His skin felt dry and flaky, not what he was used to at all. The scratchy noise which tore through the air wasn't pleasant, especially when Louis was so used to the soft swish which usually sung through. He really needed to moisturise, he contemplated.

"Louis, that's what I'm saying, you aren't telling me anything, it's not like you," Zayn stated a little softer, but still harshly.

"Yeh, well you know what, Zayn? I don't really _feel_ like me right now, either, so fuck that," Louis snapped.

"That's not my fucking fault! You don't have to take it out on me!"

"I'm not taking it out on you! I haven't been speaking to you!"

"That is taking it out on me! You're obviously ignoring me because I've done _something_ which probably isn't even anything major!"

Louis growled through his sigh, his throat vibrating up to the roof of his mouth, tingling. It was probably more of a grunt, actually. Through the way he shut his eyes resignedly, the darkness enclosed the harsh airport lighting. "You're not making any sense. I really can't deal with this right now so will you please just leave me the fuck alone?"

"No! I'm not going to leave you alone until you've explained why you're being such a fucking twat!"

It was similar to a pin prick. A small, tiny, miniscule prickle of pain being injected into where his neck and right shoulder joined. It was sharp and succinct. It was totally out of the blue, who would have known which part of the sentence spoken had triggered it. But then again, who would have known what the intention of the sting was until it had erupted like a volcano to finally release all its pent up frustration.

It flooded his veins instantly, clutching and grasping onto the cylindrical tube which it had zoned in on. It sunk upwards, its ferocity burning out into a tired and cumbersome journey. The instant adrenaline it contained in itself had dropped to a new low. And so it made its way up the side of his neck, tickling and tingling. It curled around his ear and then back down, stopping by the top of his jaw to fester and set it into a fierce lock. Finally, it sunk through and landed in his mouth, lounging on the tip of his tongue.

Anger.

"Because you've fucked everything up! You've ruined my fucking life! Everything is all over the place because of you and your fucking opinions and judgements on something which you have no bloody idea about! You made me into a _liar,_ something I never ever wanted to be, especially not with him anyway because he was my _everything_ two days ago and now he's gone, all because of you! You made me feel like I shouldn't have been with him when I knew I should because we were perfect for each other! He was- he was perfect for me..."

Zayn was stunned on the end of the line; so was Louis, except his was a little more fuelled from emotional exhaustion. Everything had tumbled out like frothy water crashing down a waterfall, smashing off the rock formations the way his words tore through is lips and bounded into thin air.

"What the fuck are you talking about? I thought you and Aiden were fine?"

"Will you shut the fuck up about Aiden for one fucking second?! I don't give a fuck about Aiden!"

"Then who the hell are you talking about?!"

"Harry! For God's sake. Harry Edward Styles, my boyfriend, or should I say ex-boyfriend all because of you and your stupid opinions?!"

"Who is Har- wait...you mean the mute boy?"

"For Christ's sake, he's just a normal boy; he doesn't always have to be called 'the mute boy'! That doesn't define him; he's way more than that! He has a million other qualities but nobody else looks past that and it's not fair! He's perfect the way he is! But now he's going to think that I think just like you, and I don't; I think the furthest away from you than even possible! And more! It's all your fucking fault, Zayn. You've ruined him and you've ruined me!"

Moisture, tears, water; whatever it was, was gathering behind his eyes. It spread around and blurred his vision like a piece of creased cling film lying over his pupils. His throat ached, the lump that was lodged in there being heavy. It was trying to support itself, gripping onto the walls to stay up but the muscle was just sliding out from in between its fist. It was hard to talk normally. His anger, at whomever –himself or Zayn–, was making his voice rise a level, but the ache was pulling it up a notch on the pitch scale to a tad hysterical.

"I haven't done fuck all!" Zayn countered back in annoyance, whether that was because of everything Louis was admitting or being accused of something, that wasn't able to be told.

"You've done everything! You made me feel uncomfortable saying that I was even friends with Harry. You made me feel like I shouldn't admit that I was dating him. You made me want to hide behind Aiden-fucking-Grimshaw because I was so fucking scared of your reaction! You forced me into telling you that I was dating someone and you made me say the wrong name because- because you were pressurising me. And now he knows that I pretended I was dating someone else and he probably hates me and will never forgive me. So there you go, now you know why I'm ignoring you, because of you and your stupid fucking judgements."

"I didn't make you say Aiden's name! You were the one who said it; I didn't put the words into your mouth!"

"Well you might as well have because I was so worried about your reaction that I said Aiden-"

"No, Louis, that's not me putting words in your mouth: it was you being a coward."

"I'm not- I'm not..."

Louis knew that he was being a coward; he had said from the start that he had been, but he didn't want to admit it to Zayn. He wanted to come across as a strong, macho (not in _that_ sense, obviously, we all know that Louis is as far from macho as Santa is from being real), not cowardly and weak.

"You are, Louis, you know you are. You just don't have the balls to say it to me. You never did, and you never will. You run away from things and blame everyone else; it's just what you do. But you are _not_ blaming your failure of a relationship on me. I don't give a shit about him; I couldn't find a flying fuck if it was staring me right in the face. All that matters to me is that you, my best friend from practically the day I was born, my brother, is blaming me and lying to me. You know I don't like liars, you fucking know. You know why, and you've never lied to me because of that. But now this _Harry_ guy is in the picture you think it's perfectly fine to forget about everyone else and only do right by him. There are other people than him in the world that care about you, other people which depend on you. We all still need your truthfulness, not just him. I don't think you know how angry this has made me, you not even having the balls to tell me that you were dating him. You were so concerned about him not getting hurt that you never thought about us –me– when you lied your way through a few weeks. Well you know what, Louis? You don't have to be concerned about me anymore because I'm fucking done."

Done. It's a very expressive word: it can tell a lot but at the same time, it can tell so little. It could mean that you've finished doing something, that something is complete. But then it could mean the total opposite. It could mean that you're finished with something, that it's over. Polar opposites: one gives hope, continuity; the other gives a sense of defeat, interruption in the smooth flow.

Louis was waiting for that high pitched, prolonged tone to pierce through the air after Zayn's words. But it never came. There was just silence on the other end of the line, that being parted by heavy, laboured, sporadic breathing. Louis didn't know whether he was thankful or ungrateful for the continuation of the call.

"I know...I _know,_ Zayn, I know..."

"You know what?" Zayn wheezed.

"I know that I messed up; I know that it was all my fault; I know that it wasn't your fault at all. I just- I don't know how I'm supposed to _deal_ with this. It's happened so fast and I can't- I just don't know what to do anymore.." Louis' last words were alike to whimpers, pathetic and drowned in sorrow and regret with added helplessness. When Zayn didn't reply, Louis let his mouth trail off with the words in his mind. They were mumbled from the way his head was hanging in between his knees, muffled and hot. "You- you aren't going to leave me too, are you?"

"Fuck, Lou, of course I'm not going to leave you. I- I don't think I ever _could_ leave you, even if I wanted to. But-" Louis held his breath, "- but I don't know if I can help you with this one, Louis. It's your mess, not mine; you have to get through it yourself. I want to help you but I don't know _how;_ you're the only one who knows how."

"It's gone too far, though, Zayn. I don't know how to take it all back. I just...I keep trying to fight, not fall apart like I normally do when I mess up, but- but I don't think I can this time...there's too much at stake and I can't lose him, Zayn, I just _can't_.."

"I don't know what to say, Lou, I really don't know how to help you on this one..." Zayn said sorrowfully.

Louis let the silence linger a little, not on purpose, though, just to keep the calm (as much calm as there could be when the tears were brimming in his eyes and his heart was straining in his chest) as his thoughts raced. "I've really done it this time, haven't I?" He said feebly.

"I don't know your relationship, Lou. I know nothing about it. If I knew...maybe I would be some help, but I didn't know. I don't want to make you regret everything even more than I'm sure you already do, but things would have been a lot different if you'd told me; maybe I would have been some help, regardless of the fact I was never too keen on you even being friends with him..."

"I just want to take it all back, Zayn, please, just take it all back for me.." the hands on the clock were ticking from 'Regret' to 'Desperation' now, from 'Whimpers' to 'Pleas'.

"Look- I've got to go, the boys are here, you- you just stay strong, okay? I...I may not like him –Harry– but if he makes you happy then you can't let him go. You deserve to be happy, it's all I want from you is for you to be happy. So please, make sure that whatever you do isyou’re your happiness. And I'll get over this lying thing soon enough, just concentrate on this first and then we can deal with the other shit afterwards, once everything has settled down a bit, yeh?"

"Yeh...okay, sure..." Louis croaked.

"Well...I'll see you, then," Zayn said awkwardly.

"See you..." Louis said, his voice cracking brokenly at the end.

The line went dead but Louis was stilled in his position, the phone still burning his ear. His breathing was deep and heavy but short in length, laboured pants streaming through his mouth and nose. His sinuses felt like they had a fire spreading through them, the flames curling around his nostrils and eyes to cause that blaze to take over each area.

Everything was falling; everything was crumbling, tiny specks being chipped away before finally, the floodgates were opened.

He felt stupid. Weak. Pathetic. But he couldn't help it. The tears had been locked away but they had broken free and they were falling without a care in the world. They followed the creases in his wincing expression and pooled in all the crannies they could. They sprinted down his cheeks and took a detour to the corners of his lips, salt spreading through his taste buds. Some kept going, eventually dripping onto the seat in silence, not even a plink as they smashed onto the metal.

Louis wasn't out rightly sobbing; he wasn't actually making much noise at all, bar the odd sniffle and snort as he breathed in. Was he embarrassed that he was so crying out in the open? Maybe, a little, but he had good reason to. It felt like Zayn was slipping through his fingers too, along with Harry. It made him aware that you can never please everyone; someone will always be against whatever you are doing or have done. There's no point in trying to, no point in lying to make someone feel more comfortable, because in the end, the hurt will be a lot more plaguing than the initial reaction to telling the truth. If only Louis had known that beforehand, things would have been a lot different.

If he could go back in time and change everything, would he? Yes, of course. He would do anything to take back to the hurt which he was certain Harry was feeling. What about Zayn? It would help their relationship, too. If he had been honest with Zayn, then maybe he would have warmed up to the idea of them dating and it wouldn't be like it was now, Zayn on edge because of Louis' lying, and reluctant to get to understand the new relationship.

But nothing could change. He couldn’t go back in time and change it all. All he could do now was sit, wait, and cry until Harry had made his decision.

The clock was ticking furiously fast in Louis' eyes. Instead of moving in what felt like hours for every minute, by the time he had looked at his watch through watery eyes, it was just over a quarter of an hour before the last check-in. It made his breath hitch –and cause a coughing fit full of wet splutters– because each time the hand ticked once more, it was ticking closer to the end of everything he had worked so hard for. It was like a ticking time bomb, ready to destroy everything into smithereens. He doubted that he would be in any fit state to try and rectify it after the explosion had been cast; the state he was already in was bad enough. Louis could hardly even see straight, let alone think straight.

Was there much point waiting any longer? Louis wasn't sure. If Harry hadn't turned up yet, then he wouldn't turn up at all. But he could always be stuck in traffic, right? He could have forgotten something and rushed back home..? Or maybe he had decided to come but then chose not to, that was an option too.

_No,_ Louis shook his head of his thoughts. He wasn't going to give himself any lame excuses; it was silly doing so. All those small, pathetic ideas of him _wanting_ to turn up but being late in doing so were totally absurd because-

Because Harry obviously didn't _want_ to turn up. Harry obviously didn't _want_ to go on holiday with Louis. Harry obviously didn't want _Louis_ anymore.

And yes, maybe that hurt more than anything Louis had felt in a long time, but that didn't make it any less believable. It was more believable than the petty excuse; that’s for sure. The excuses were light and easily broken, a sign that they weren't real; whereas the heavy weight of Harry not wanting to turn up was much more sturdy, much more real. No, that wasn't nice at all, but it was true, Louis had resigned himself to believe.

He fought with himself, wondering whether to wait it out, prolong that ache in his heart each time it wasn't Harry walking through those revolving doors, or to end it that moment and leave before he broke to an unfixable state. But was that selfish, leaving before the clock struck that doomed time which had been etched into his brain? Was it selfish to not want to face it? But then again, Louis always ran away, so what would be the point in changing that now?

So many questions, so little time. The hands on the clock were hurtling by as Louis fell deeper into his thoughts. He only dared for a split second to dip into the 'Harry' thoughts, seeing the wonderfulness that he was but then remembering that he wasn't going to be Louis' for any longer. It was a sear to the heart, a scorch emblazing onto him and branding him for an indefinable time.

Finally, Louis decided what to do. There was no point in staying, not when there was only the slightest chance that Harry would turn up. If anything, it would only cause more heartache than necessary (and Louis needed a lot of heartache to pay for what he had done).  Louis didn't deserve for him to turn up, and he was sure that Harry would recognise that and choose to leave Louis behind and start all over again. The simplest thing to do was to stand up, gather his things, and walk out, leave everything behind. He didn't want to, but it was the best idea he had, the most sensible. For once, thinking sensibly was Louis' main priority. He had to be mature about this, not stoop to that low level of desperation.

Louis rose from the seat which had been his home for the past few hours. His bones creaked and his muscles strained as he arched his back to rid him off the stiffness the seat had caused. He glanced around the airport aimlessly, blue eyes darting from right to left, left to right. He turned to the seat lethargically, sighing as he picked up his carry-on bag and slung it over his right shoulder. He slowly swivelled around on the balls of his feet and wrapped his fingers around the handle of his suitcase. It was cold under his fingertips and he gripped at it with all the strength he had, like it was his lifeline. It was ironic, the suitcase –the holiday– _was_ his lifeline; it was what would be the decider of his relationship, so therefore his lifeline. Now he was clinging on to the one thing which was going to be his saviour as he carried it out of the building which was supposed to be the thing which saved him. Not anymore.

Louis took a deep breath through parted lips, his thin pinks being dark and raw from the worrying his teeth had caused on them. He sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve, swallowing thickly. He looked around the airport, searching for anything which would keep him there: searching for Harry. But nothing stood out. In a way, Louis wanted something to pull him back in, wanted a reason to stay. _But you can't,_ Louis thought, _you have to leave or else you'll only do more harm than good._

"This is for the best," Louis murmured to himself, reassuring himself somewhat. He ran a distressed hand through his fringe and pushed it back to try and find something to do with his spare fingers. Any way to distract him was, apparently, the way forward. It took a while for his feet to unlatch from the floor; they felt as if they were suctioned to the floor and would take more energy than Louis had to pull away.

A curly haired man had caught his eyes when he glanced up from his slugging feet, proving to be a massive dose of false hope. Louis had gasped dramatically and he could almost feel each of his pores unclogging and his body lightening. But when the man turned around, he saw brown eyes instead of green, a beard instead of smooth, a man instead of his boy. The disappointment was instantly reaffirmed in his cells and his body drooped with even more sorrow than before. He was dragging his feet unintentionally as he turned and walked to the exit door.

Louis was about to embrace the chilly morning air, but then he heard it. A distressed, panicked voice calling out. Curiosity got the better of Louis and he let his head turn distantly to the side, not in hopefulness but in wonder stemming from dullness.

For once, curiosity did _not_ kill the cat.

Because there, stumbling through the doors with flushed skin and a slack mouth, was Gemma Anne Styles.

Louis straightened up and let out an embarrassingly shocked noise which was akin to a squeal. His hand automatically reached to cover his lips, to prevent any other similar noise from escaping or just in instinctive reaction, that wasn't to be clear. But that wasn't his priority, determining why he had done such a thing; his priority was dropping all of his possessions to the floor and, to put it impolitely, legging it over to the young girl.

Gemma was looking around frantically. Her brown hair was whipping from side to side as she scanned the area for, presumably, Louis. Even from the distance which was shortening with each uncoordinated step Louis took, Louis could see that she was beyond flustered and looking extremely frenzied. She turned her back to search behind her, having not seeing Louis' ungracious sprint over towards her, so Louis called out her name in a bid to grab her attention.

"Gemma!" He shouted, his voice raspy and rough. Her body spun around and her features brightened when she saw Louis' stumbling form. Louis tripped over his feet as he tried to speed up, inelegantly pushing himself onto the girl with a skid.

"Wh-where's Haz?" he panted, supporting himself with his hand on her shoulder as he wheezed an unusual amount for a dancer. The logical thing to do would be to ask why Gemma was there in the first place, but Louis could only think of one thing –a recent happening–, _Harry._

"He's not-"

_No,_ Louis thought, _don't do this to me._ He had been filled to the brim with hope as soon as he had paired the shout with Gemma's face. Every single drop from the jug of optimism had been poured into his veins and he was suddenly full of expectation. He didn't want to be, but the drip funnelling hope which had started the second he had realised that a family relation of Harry's was in the building had made him fully expect Harry to turn up. Louis knew he shouldn't have thought that way because, after all, his reasoning from before still stood strong, regardless of who was there calling out his name.

But the thought of Gemma finishing that sentence with the word 'coming' would definitely wreck all of Louis' hope. All of that hopefulness in his veins had channelled its way to his heart, and when all of it was to be drained out by that word, it would leave his heart feeling dried out of all emotion.

Louis almost had the urge to stop Gemma from speaking, to not let her finish the sentence. He wanted to let out a heartbreaking whine and let the tears fall all over again, just so he didn't have to hear that one word. He didn't want to hear the final ultimatum which had only the possibility of being bad. He was being cowardly in his mind again, yes; he knew that, but he had to protect himself from this last blow because Louis wasn't sure what he would do if all that he had thought up to make himself feel better was to be crushed by one small word.

But then again, one small word started all of this, so wouldn't it be fitting to end it like so?

"-exactly the fittest person in the world, y'know."

Relief. That was what flooded Louis this time. It curled around his ears and sunk into his cheeks. It swam in his eyes and curdled happily in his mouth. He would never be able to explain the feelings which overwhelmed him in that moment, but he could go as far as saying that it felt dizzyingly perfect.

Because Harry was coming. _Harry was coming._ Harry wasn't leaving Louis alone in the airport. Harry wasn't letting what they had come to an end.

That…that was pretty big pill for Louis to swallow, a good one, though, a one to dilute the previous defeat in his stomach.

Of course, Louis didn't know what was going to happen when he turned up. It was a little too bitter of Louis to think that Harry would turn up _just_ to tell him that it was over; that wasn't in Harry's nature at all. He would never do such a thing; his heart was too golden to have a speck of fiery red scarring it.

So it could only mean good things, right?

Louis did end up letting out that whine, but this time in grateful surprise, relief, exhaustion and just general overwhelmed emotion. He was already worn out so when he realised that Harry would be turning up, his legs lost all their support and the muscles in his calves felt like they were wobbling like jelly on a plate. He let them give way, let himself crumble to the floor. Maybe it was dramatic of him, but he was too exhausted to care. He could imagine the few odd looks he would be getting but the delirious puddle which was being splashed in by the words 'Harry is coming' made him unable care.

He was panting heavily with large gasping breaths, eyes wide and coated in prickling tears. His tanned fingers of his right hand were tangled in his hair, his palm lying on his burning forehead and his elbow resting on his knee for support. Louis' mouth was open wide, jaw slack, and his tongue was starting to feel thick from the way his mouth had dried up in reaction to his shock and relief.

He honestly believed that Harry was not going to turn up so the shock he was expressing was anything but fake. Of course, Louis still wasn't sure that he deserved for Harry to be turning up but the main factor was that Harry was coming and that would be all that mattered until the two came face to face for the first time in days.

"My God, you really are getting a degree in musical theatre or whatever, aren't you? You're such a drama queen," Gemma scoffed. She wasn't being mean with intention, more joking. She was alike Harry in that sense; they both had a very dry sense of humour. With Gemma, that could be misconstrued as being mean because you could hear her, but with Harry it was obvious. Or maybe Louis was just so used to Harry that he knew he was joking; that could have been a factor.

Louis would have replied with a sassy comeback or something like that, but he had no energy to do so. He was drained and he hadn't even spoken to Harry yet; who knew what he would be like during and after the moment when he actually saw him.

And that moment came around sooner than expected.

One moment Louis was taking in gulps of air to try and calm himself down; the next, his breath was caught in his throat as his eyes locked onto the figure bustling through the door.

It was overwhelming (that was Louis' emotion of the day, evidently) when he caught sight of the curly headed boy for the first time in what felt like forever. He had spent hours on end torturing himself as he flicked through photos of Harry –and him– on his phone. But although the small digital screen did show off Harry's beauty, it wasn't anything like what he looked like in real life.

In real life he was _harry,_ not Harry _._ He was dimples and flushed skin but squishy cheeks and blemishes. He was chocolate ringlets of silky strands, not a mass of dark brown. He was tall and lanky and undefined, but still silently strong. His eyes weren't just green; they were pools of emeralds sparkling whenever he laughed. No photo could portray that.

Harry shook his head of curls and wiped his fringe to the side with his hand. He had that brown satchel over his shoulder, and Louis felt a surge of sadness wash over him because he realised that for some stupid reason, he had _missed_ a _bag._ But that wasn't worth thinking about because Harry had raised his head from the floor and Louis thought that then and there he was about to throw up because everything was too much.

It made everything real: the whole weekend, what had happened, the situation in total, it brought it all together. Seeing the pale skin which he had missed so much, plus the cherry lips and strong jaw, made Louis realise that he could have potentially lost _that._ The, what Louis would class as, perfection which stood too far away from him could have been gone. Poof. Just like that.

And maybe the fact that he didn't totally know whether the angelic face was there to bring good or bad news, maybe that was one of the things which was pushing down on his chest.

But seeing his boyfriend (can we still say boyfriend?) _there_ made everything in him feel dizzyingly light.

Louis vaguely noticed Gemma waving Harry over quite a few times as Harry stood still in his spot. Harry had seen the two of them in the middle of the room but had not moved once he had recognised them. His eyes were locked onto the boy on the floor but he was too far away for Louis to see whether he was looking in his own eyes or not.

They looked drawn, his eyes, with big bags hanging from his lower eyelids. Louis could see even in the distance that Harry looked a lot paler than usual, regardless of the blooming bright blush on his cheeks from running. Louis hated that he had caused that.

Gemma's waving got a little more aggressive as Harry refused to take notice of her, but she was used to that when Louis was around. And honestly, she didn't mind it at all, as long as Harry was happy. So she kept trying to catch his attention until he finally cast his glance over to her and obeyed her frantic orders. They were on a tight schedule, after all.

Louis' mind didn't exactly register as Harry started walking closer. It was an awkward walk, an unsure and wary one. Harry had a right to be nervous and unsure, Louis thought; he would be if he was Harry, as obscure as that sounds coming from the most confident looking boy in Manchester. Each step that Harry took made Louis want to smile. It sounds strange comparing it to this, but that was what it felt like: it was like a baby taking its first steps. The baby would be taking the steps to better themself, to grow up and into themself. And essentially, that was what Harry was doing, too. He was taking to steps over to Louis to better himself, to do the right thing for himself and to choose his path. The path with or without Louis. Nothing was going to be the same, a decision had to be made, and that made lifting his feet a little bit harder.

Louis had stood up unsteadily so he could face Harry. A few metres away stood the boy who meant a whole lot to Louis, looking vulnerably strong. Harry hadn't walked any closer after his feet had refused to move any more than they already had, but it was closer than before and that was something for Louis to hold onto. A sparkle of hope that at least he could face Louis at all rather than just doing what he was about to do by text.

They were just watching, looking, staring at each other as they stood a small distance away. They were too scared to close the gap. Louis didn't want to be cautious, but they had to be. He couldn't push it. Even though Harry was there, it didn't mean that things were fixed; it didn't mean that the small tear at the seams of their relationship had magically been sewn together in the space of a minute. But the thread was there and maybe Louis could somehow pull them back together.

He heard Gemma sigh in frustration as they both came to terms with the fact that the other was in front of them. Time was ticking but neither were aware. As corny as it sounds, the world had stopped in their minds as they drunk every last drop of the other's presence; nothing else was important.

She cleared her throat awkwardly, making Harry's eyes flick away from Louis. He had never made eye contact with Louis, back to how he was before, but he was looking _at_ him and that was enough. He was registering that Louis was there, that was what mattered, regardless of that heart breaking blank expression which was laden on his features for the first time in weeks.

Louis took that second to move his eyes from Harry's face –looking at Harry's jaw wouldn't do him any good– and cast a glance at his outfit. He was wearing him 'comfy' jeans, the old ones with a hole in the back pocket and which sagged around his knees. They looked soft and worn. Perfect for travelling on a plane, Louis thought. He had on that fatal Ramones shirt –which Louis had decided that he had duplicates of– and a light, almost dusty white, grey Abercrombie zippy hoodie on which looked very snuggle-able . Behind him was his suitcase which was similar in size to Louis', maybe a little smaller, which Harry still hadn't let go of. Louis remembered that his was still at the other side of the room, but he couldn't bring himself to care because, well, the reason was obvious, wasn't it?

But wait- suitcase? Harry had his suitcase with him. Did that mean-

"For Christ's sake, H, just give him the damn paper."

Louis tore his gaze away from Harry, reluctantly, to look at Gemma after she hissed her words at Harry. He didn't want to look away from the boy opposite, worried he would be a mirage and suddenly fizzle out into the background to leave Louis deflated. Once his eyes had focused on Gemma after flicking back to Harry to check that no, he was still there, he frowned in confusion.

Paper? What paper? A piece of paper for Louis? Or was it something for Harry but had to be shown to Louis? Or was it- No, there wasn't any point in him wondering and spending his time thinking about that when he should have been taking all of Harry in instead. His mind was still messed up; thinking that Harry was here to go on the plane with him one second but then thinking that he was there to end it with him the next. It was utterly confusing and difficult to explain.

His eyes glanced between the siblings as they looked at each other in a somewhat silent conversation. Harry's hand was poised in his pocket and from his knuckles poking out of the pocket, Louis could tell that the long fingers had something in their grasp. Harry was obviously hesitant with whatever was in his hold, his expression being a little creased and the trenched wrinkles between his eyebrows being carved with the stones of worry and nerves.

Louis looked on as Gemma sighed and walked over to Harry. She muttered words to him which Louis couldn't hear, but he hoped they were reassuring ones at the least. While Harry looked at Gemma's face intently, Louis stood patiently, not tapping his toe or wriggling his fingers. Harry seemed so serious with his thinned lips and furrowed brow. It would have been quite hot if they were in a total different situation and Louis was in Gemma's place–no, now wasn't the time to think about that. He tuned back into the real world just as the older sister was stepping away and he caught wind of her final words:

"It's the right thing to do, you know that, H."

What was the right thing to do? Was breaking up with Louis the right thing to do? Louis suspected that in Gemma's eyes, that was the right thing to do. After all, she did say that she would kill him if he hurt Harry and regretfully, he had done that. Actually, Louis wondered why he hadn't been slaughtered the minute Gemma had seen him, or at least been stabbed with words instead of a witty comment when he asked her a question. It was all a little baffling, but he would get to the bottom of it eventually, whether it be bad news or good news.

God, he was like a broken record, constantly contradicting his own thoughts with uncertainty.

Gemma stepped back and stood to the side again, leaving Harry staring into the space where she previously stood. Louis stayed quiet and just watched Harry take his time to process Gemma's words. He could almost see the cogs turning in Harry's mind, could see his fingers twitching in his pocket.

Finally, Harry nervously looked up at Louis, worrying his bottom lip. His eyes were wide and unsure, the green being dulled down a little more than usual. Harry shuffled forward, very insecure in how he did so with his head bowed. He scratched his neck as he raised his head to look at Louis, who stood fidgeting in anticipation. Slowly, Harry pulled out a folded piece of paper. It looked as if he was still toying with whether to give it to Louis or not in how he didn't push it into Louis' hand straight away. Every few inches he extended his hand, he pulled it back a little as he battled with himself.

Eventually, Harry grabbed Louis' hand and slapped the paper in it. He retreated back a few steps as if Louis was on fire and he was saving himself from the scorch. Louis looked at him suspiciously, eyeing up his expression. He stared down at the paper. It felt heavy in his hand, much stronger and more powerful than just a normal slip of white. He almost didn't want to open it, didn't want to see the words of his relationship ending. _Almost._

Temptation and impatience got the better of him and with a cursory glance to an expectant Gemma and an awkward Harry, he focused his attention on the paper he had been handed. Tentatively, he peeled it open and let his eyes roam along the neat lines of Harry's handwriting. His heart was beating ten to the dozen and his pulse was racing in his neck.

_To Lou,_

_Uhm..well..this is going to be hard to write so excuse the mistakes which are inevitable. I'm not really sure where it will go, so bear (or is it bare? I never know which it is...) with me while I try and get everything out, yeh?_

_I, well, haven't had the best weekend- we haven't exactly had the best weekend, have we? It hasn't been pleasant at all, for me, anyway. I've been pretty confused,_ very _confused right from when I found out because I just...I didn't see it coming, y'know? I thought that everything was well, I thought what we had was enough for you?_

_I bet you're wondering how I found out your hidden secret, right? Well I was on my way to get something from the shops on Friday evening and you were at the Pub then, weren't you? You were with your mates, with him. I nearly didn't notice - sometimes I wish I hadn't - but I heard your laugh. I know it too well, I think I'm in tune with it or something because I could hear it over everything else. And well, I didn't mean to, but I'm a curious person, you know that, so I stopped and looked over. At first, I tried to think that it was you just being_ you, _y'know, touchy feely and stuff. You were tucked under his arm and that was a bit shocking, if I'm totally honest, it was a big blow seeing that because even though we aren't like that, it's what couples do. And we were supposed to be the couple, not you and him. I was going to leave, I swear, but then Zayn (is it?) started speaking and I was being a curious cat and thought there wasn't any harm in seeing what he was like. I'm not going to apologise for eavesdropping, Louis._

_Okay, so maybe I am. I'm sorry for listening in because then we wouldn't be in this mess right now, would we? And I don't like what we're in because it's really fucking scary. But I can't change it now anyway; it's over and done with._

_So anyway, I'm just going to cut to the chase and say that I heard you saying that you 'Fucked him into the mattress last night'._

_I'm not going to lie, it fucking killed me. It ripped me up, Lou. It hurt so much. I've never been through this before, I've never been through 'heartbreak' other than my Dad leaving, and that was totally different anyway. I felt horrible- like I did before you, before things got better. I felt so lonely, like I had nobody. For all I knew, you had someone else and didn't want me anymore. I guess it was a bit like how once you've had something, you can't go back? Like, once I had you, once I'd experienced having a friend_ and _having a boyfriend, it hurt more losing both of those things than never having them at all._

_Before I forget, I want to mention about the part which got me quite bad. I know it was just something you said, it's nothing major for you to say anyway, but at some point I started thinking about how we haven't done anything like 'that' yet and I felt kinda bad. I mean, it was one of the reasons I assumed you had cheated on me because he could give you that and I couldn't._

_But anyway._

_My Mum was a mess too just because she didn't know what was going on. I kinda locked myself in my room because, effectively, in my eyes I had just found out that my boyfriend had cheated on me. I didn't want to see people or to have to tell them what had happened because it was hurting so bad to even think about it. Eventually, my Mum got it out of me and she, well, she wasn't happy in the slightest. I guess things like this don't just affect one person, it's more than you think. I felt bad for her because I was shutting her out, but it's what I do. I can't cope with things if everything is out in the open. I need to sort it out myself first. But I couldn't do that when all I was asking in my mind was why. Why did you do it? Why did you need him? Why wasn't I enough? Why didn't I do more to make it work? Why couldn't I be normal? Why couldn't I be what you wanted? Why?_

_When you turned up, I was pretty angry at you at that point. The hurt had turned into anger and I was kinda fuming. In all honesty, if I had had the courage to face you, I probably would have punched you or something (okay, we both know I wouldn't but I felt like I needed to. Like I needed a way to show you how much you had hurt me). So you arrived and you were oblivious and I was even more annoyed that you were oblivious but also hurt because you didn't know much you had hurt me so you didn't have the pain of that. Does that even make sense? I don't even know what I'm saying anymore._

_I don't know what I felt when you explained it. I was just a whole lot more confused again. One minute I thought we were perfect, the next you had cheated on me, the one after that I was wondering if you would actually do that, the time after that I was hurt that you had had enough of me and wanted something better, and then when you explained it I was just confused as to whether to believe you or not._

_I wanted to believe you, I did, but I felt like I didn't know you anymore. How are you supposed to trust someone you don't know?_

_I almost didn't want to listen to what you were saying. I tried not to but you can't exactly ignore Louis Tomlinson, I think that was proven when we first met. I did, though, I listened to you. And I took it all in and I considered it all._

_Mum listened in on what you were saying too, because, y'know, she needed to know what had happened. She didn't want me to do what I'm going to do because she saw what I was like after it happened, but she'll have to deal with it._

_You're probably wondering why Gemma is here because she should really fucking hate you, shouldn't she? She does a bit, don't worry about that, but she knows what's best for me. Of course my Mum knows what is best for me but she doesn't understand what how I feel like Gem does. Gemma was the one who persuaded me to do this. She made me put things into perspective and realise what the right thing to do was._

_I can't let you go._

_I was hurt because you lied to me, yes, but that isn't a big enough reason for me to lose the best thing which has happened to me. It sounds exaggerated but you really are the best thing ever for me because you've helped me grow and you've given me confidence and most of all, you've cared about me. I can't afford to lose you because I need you. You're the only person who has given me the time of day and I can't lose that over one silly mistake._

_Because it was silly, kinda stupid actually. I understand why you did it: you were scared. And I get that because I get scared too, I get really fucking scared and I sometimes want to hide away too. And I know that it would have hung over you like a huge weight on your shoulders after you had lied about me, and I'm glad that it's out in the open because you will feel a lot better too. We can get over the lying thing, like, it isn't too big a deal and I'll be over it in no time. And I know this seems quick because everything has only just happened, but this kinda has to happen quick or else I'll never get over it. It's felt longer than it's been anyway so I have had time to think every single bit of this through. I've had a day to contemplate everything and it's enough to realise that we do need each other._

_I know you aren't ashamed of me; you wouldn't bother with me if you were. You just want to protect me because I'm not as strong as you, we both know that. I like that you care about me that much to want to save me from getting hurt. But you've got to let me make my own mistakes, Lou, it's how life goes. I've been mollycoddled all my life and when I met you I finally felt like I was free from that. You're reckless and confident and you're what I need. But I don't need you to cover that up just to protect me, I don't need you to protect me from the people who don't understand me because I'm used to it, I'm used to people not understanding me. Please, Lou, I'm not that breakable._

_Gemma made me realise that we're going to go through a lot. Relationships are like that. Things go wrong, things go right. But as long as you've got that special someone by your side then you can get through it, together. It sounds so fucking cheesy, I know, but it's true isn't it? I think it is. I think you can feel pretty invincible when the person you like/love is with you. I do when I'm with you anyway._

_So that's why I don't want this to end. I don't want to lose you. I want to pick up where we left off. I know things might be weird, I know you'll be really cautious and stuff, but I won't be too bad. Somehow, this has done me good. It's made me more appreciative of you and somehow I feel a tiny bit less scared of this whole thing we have. You kind of poured your heart out to me when you were explaining things and it's reassured me a bit more. This holiday is a way that we can be away from everything and focus on just us, y'know?_

_I hope you're okay with everything I've said, I'm not really sure what I've actually said because it's all kind of a blur. It's gone on far too long but I thought I may as well get everything out in the open._

_Oh, yeh, don't worry about the anniversary thing… I was just being a hopeless romantic. I think it just kinda added to the hurt that it was on that day? Like, when I threw it at you? (Sorry about that, by the way). I didn't expect you to get me anything, so don't worry about that either, I just got you something small to say thank you for being there in general. It was just this teddy which was all snugly (because your room is so bare, I thought it'd spruce it up a bit) so nothing major. I can still give you it if you want?_

_So...yeh...if you want, can we maybe try again?_

_Love, Harry xx_

What are you supposed to feel after you have read someone's heart which has been poured onto a sheet of paper? How are you supposed to act? Are you supposed to ignore the lump in your throat and the wet lining behind your eyes? Are you supposed to focus of the relief instead of dwelling over the words about past emotions? What do you do?

Louis wasn't sure. He wanted time to contemplate it, to let it sink in. It was like oil, it took a while to sink in to the pores and spent a while lying on top as a layer of protection. Protection from what? In this case, that wasn't obvious. Maybe it was protection from overreaction; Louis was prone to his dramatics, of that was clear.

He didn't even realise that he was back on the floor again. He was so focused on reading, so engrossed in finding out everything _Harry_ that he had had to sit himself down to support the weight that the letter held. Louis daren't look up at Harry just after he had read it. He didn't think that he could match the words with Harry's face until they had registered in his mind.

Firstly, Louis had to think about how Harry had found out. It must've been so heartbreaking to see that occur right in front of you. Louis could imagine how heart-ripping it would be if it had happened to him. Yes, the thought of seeing Harry act like that with someone would be shocking anyway, regardless of the fact it wasn't with his boyfriend, but still, the point still stands. A part of Louis wished that he had told Harry before he had found out so he didn't have to find out in such an unclear yet precise way. It was obvious that something was happening (even though it wasn't like that) but it wasn't confirmed as to what it was, so Louis could understand how confusing that would be for Harry.

Secondly, he had to get over the words in which Harry was explaining how hurt he was. Although he had expected them, they were harder to hear than he had thought. Each single word spouted disappointment in Louis –from both Harry and Louis himself– as well as the general sadness which was inevitable. Whenever his eyes ran over a word of Harry saying how much Louis had hurt him, it felt like he was being kicked in the gut with increasing force.

Thirdly, Louis had to consider the fact that Anne wasn't happy with him at all. Gemma, well, he could handle that because at least she was _here_ and she was the one who had convinced Harry to turn up. _Actually,_ Louis pondered, _I'll have to thank her for this, maybe get her some flowers or something._ Anne, though, she was the main supporter of their relationship. She had tried to help them as much as she could, all the trust that she had given him had just trickled down the drain. He didn't like going behind her back, but essentially, it was all Harry's choice. Her responsibility was Harry, not Louis, and she couldn't deny Harry of his own independence.

And that led Louis onto his last port of call. He had to somehow get it into his head that _harry wasn't leaving him._ It seemed pretty surreal after the past few days, but it was true and it was happening and he was _here._ Even pairing the words with Harry's presence still made it difficult to believe because he didn't think that he had a chance in hell, if he was honest.

He was here. Harry was here. Harry was going to take him back. Harry wasn't going to let them end. Harry said that he still needed Louis.

It wasn't over.

So that was what made Louis let out a wet sob and jump, with a stumble, up from his seated position. Harry had his head down with worry, his curls cascading over his features like a curtain hiding the darkness of the night. Maybe he was peeking through the silky locks, Louis couldn't tell. But he could hardly see himself as his emotional ways caused his eyes to blur over. It was pathetic, how much he had cried over Harry in the past few days, but really, Louis wasn't a typical 'boy' and he couldn't help but tear up over the things which he cared about the most.

He wanted to say so much; he wanted to blurt everything out in a jumble of profanities and truths but all he was able to do was bound over to Harry with his messy limbs and fall onto the boy's body. His head was resting on Harry's shoulder, his features beings squished as he buried himself into the warmth, the smell, the _being_ of his boyfriend. Louis was breathing so deeply that it was making his brain fizz with tiny bubbles of dizziness, the air feeling burning hot as it hit off his skin again. Burning like the tears behind his eyes and burning like the relief imprinting on his heart.

Eventually –although Louis never realised that they weren't in that position already– Harry wrapped his arms around Louis' tiny frame which seemed a lot more dainty than usual. He seemed breakable, ironically enough. And maybe it was because Harry hadn't held him in a few days and it was easy to try and forget the things which meant the most, but it seemed like his arms could wind around and around Louis' frame a thousand times when beforehand it only felt like he could do so two or three times. The small things like that were more reassuring than the big gestures.

Louis' arms were sandwiched between both of their chests as he held them close to him. He was muttering nonsense but he let himself do it because, really, this was Louis and Louis wasn't normal anyway.

Finally, he started talking a little more coherently and a little more meaningfully, "Thank you, fuck, thank you so much, Haz. I can't- _fuck._ "

It seemed the most natural thing to do, the most important thing to say. Thank you was the most relevant thing to say because Louis was grateful, really fucking grateful, that Harry had taken him back after everything he had done. No words could explain how thankful he was, but he had all the time in the world for that, didn't he?

"I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry, Harry."

Harry just gripped him tighter. He didn't want any more apologies; it was as simple as that. There wasn't anything more to say. He wanted to move on from it and having Louis keep apologising would only cause more grief.

"I don't deserve this. I don't deserve _you._ "

Harry froze a little, his arms tightening around Louis a little more so than before. Never, not once, did Harry think that someone would say that to him. He still believed that _he_ wasn't good enough for _Louis;_ he couldn't imagine it the other way around. The whole escapade hadn't helped back when he believed that Louis had actually found someone else, so to have Louis saying it to _him_ was extremely mind boggling for Harry. He would have spent more time contemplating it, but with time running out and Louis sinking into believing his own words, Harry didn't have time for that.

With only a little caution, Harry let his hand come up to cup the back of Louis' head. His thumb rubbed the fine hair behind Louis' ear lightly in tiny comforting circles. He rested his cheek on the top of Louis head, not daring to press a feather light kiss there just yet. To show Louis that he deserved him when he didn't believe that he deserved Louis would be a task designated for another time, he thought. He didn't have the time to find a piece of paper and try and explain how much he cared about Louis, but one day he would.

There were a lot of things which would have to wait until later, but later was possible.

Harry sent a pleading glance towards Gemma as Louis continued to reel off words of insecurities. Half the words were caught by Harry's t-shirt but the general mood was dampening by the second as Louis rambled and rambled. This was supposed to be a joyful reunion, right? Although Harry knew that his awkwardness would mean that that type of cliché meet-cute wasn't entirely possible, he had hoped that Louis would be too happy to even think about the other aspects. Apparently that wasn't the case.

Gemma sighed overdramatically and stomped forward a few steps. "Look, as cute as this-" Gemma gestured with her hands, "-is, the words you're saying, Louis, are utter bullshit and I think you should just shut the hell up and kiss my brother's face off because, honestly, I'm sick of all the weeping this weekend has held and I just want you to get on that plane so I can finally sleep."

Louis pulled his face from Harry's chest and gave a watery smile to Gemma. He used the back of his hand to wipe his teary eyes and let a small breathy laugh tumble through his lips. He looked up at Harry for the first time since he had read the letter, making sure that blue met green and didn't part.

It was overwhelming, again, being able to look at the colour which was indefinable although it was the colour of many other things. Green came in grass, trees, bushes and stems. It was everywhere. But Harry's Green was special, particular, different. Other greens could be a reminder of the certain shade, but none would match up to Harry's Green. Seeing it in person and up close when Louis didn't think he would be able to experience it again was something which Louis took the time to appreciate. It seemed like all the building blocks were slotting into place, finally.

"We're okay?" Louis croaked. His voice was greased with a lining of thick tears but still held that dry roughness from the everlasting ache in his throat. The corners of his lips were turned up in hopefulness and his blue eyes were wide and clear. He looked young, vulnerable, and full of dependence. Louis wasn't hiding behind anything, not his confidence or mistakes. He was standing in front of Harry with faith in his eyes and need in his wrists. The blue eyed boy was open for Harry to see because, it was then that Harry realised, that Louis wasn't scared anymore.

So neither was Harry.

A smile slowly crept over Harry's lips. Its hands pushed the right corner of his lips further up and prodded a dimple on his cheek. Then, it slid over his smooth pinks to the left corner of his lips and graciously kneaded it upwards to cause a reassuring, happy, and confirming smile.

Harry's eyelids closed slowly in a lazy blink, a content and sinking blink. He let the emotions filter through his eyelids and swim in his pools of green. He treasured the bliss he was feeling in that moment so he would always remember that _this_ was why he was still here.

Harry nodded as he opened his eyes and didn't miss the way that Louis' eyes lit up to a brighter blue than before. They were doused in self-doubt and worry beforehand, a sheet of grey being draped over the blue to hide the ocean of emotions. But now, now the blanket had been whipped off like a magician pulling a table sheet from under the plates. The sparkling sapphire had been uncovered for the first time in the past few days and they were glimmering with relief, faith, and delight.

Louis whimpered through his tightly pressed together lips, a bubble of noise blurting out because of the rush of emotions which couldn't be held in any longer. They soared through his veins and rested in every nook and cranny they could fit into, because if Louis couldn't feel everything positive in that moment then he never would be able to. The moment was the epitome of joy. Louis hadn't lost the boy he was sure to be falling for and so he had every right to feel the bliss of the situation first hand.

He collapsed into Harry's arms once again but this time wrapped his own arms around Harry's chest and held on as tightly as he could. His nose was pressed into Harry's pale neck and his eyes were squeezed together in fear that this would all be a dream. He felt Harry pull him in closer and Louis almost cried in relief when he felt Harry's lips press down on the top of his head. It wasn't overly affectionate in the way of PDA, but it was more than Louis could have asked for because it was chaste and it was simple and it was _harry_ all over.

So Louis nudged his head up and looked up at Harry through his eyelashes. He darkened his bottom lip with his top teeth holding it cheekily and rose up a little on his tip toes so he was level with Harry's face. He let his hand slip through Harry's curls to cup the back of his head and his other rest on Harry's cheek. It was awfully cliché as he rested his forehead on Harry's, but he couldn't help but be romantic in the situation.

"I think I would like to kiss you," Louis whispered. "After all, we do have a lot to catch up on..."

Harry bit his bottom lip through his smile and his cheeks flushed to a pink. He nodded quietly and let his eyes flutter shut as he leaned in ever so slightly. Louis could feel both of their hearts pounding against one another through their chests, anticipation and excitement sliding through their veins. It had not been long since they had last kissed, and it was not like it was their first ever time either. But it was the first kiss of their new start, the kiss of life some may say. And Louis wanted it to be perfect so it would match everything else which he was feeling.

He edged his head forward and let his lips brush Harry's. His eyes too had fallen closed silently so he couldn't see the way that both their cheeks matched in flushed colour. It wasn't even Louis who took the first move; it was the both of them who moved in sync to let their lips connect fully.

It was how it was slow, but not cautious. It was how they stayed still at first to absorb the fact that _this_ was happening after everything which had ensued over the weekend. It was the sprinkle of warmth as they breathed out through their noses, as quietly as they could, not wanting to break the moment. It was the graceful part of Harry's lips as Louis let his own prize open. It was the small crackle as they did so, the way that their surroundings had blurred into silence. It was how it wasn't spurred on by lust or desperation. It was how each turn of the head and brush of the lips was because of soft need and gratefulness. Gratefulness that they were still together, that they had met, that they had each other. It was how it was tender and gentle, how it was warm and fond.

And when they parted, it was how their eyelids fluttered open a few seconds after. The way that they needed time to let the emotions of the kiss sink in and let everything _be._

But what meant the most to Louis was that when they did finally open their eyes, those big green pools looked straight into his blues without any hesitation. That meant more than a thousand words; it meant more than a score of music; it meant the world to Louis because of reasons which he would never be able to express.

And maybe Louis could have apologised more. Maybe he could have pointed out every single beautiful detail about Harry. Or maybe he could have just kept kissing Harry senseless.

But sometimes, actions don't speak louder than words. Sometimes words can't speak for themselves.

Sometimes, all that is needed is _silence._


	19. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Louis awoke with an orange warmth spreading over his eyelids. His arm was tingling with specks of heat which burst like needled balloons. His whole right side felt like it was blanketed in _sun_ and _tan_ and _yellow_ , almost like there was a sheet of translucent, orange tinted cling film draped over his exposed skin. His thin pyjama top had shucked up to his ribs and his black boxer leg had scrunched up around his thigh, but the way that the light and heat had wrapped itself around his skin and buried itself in between the fine hair which sprouted from his skin, it made it unnecessary for extra material.

As well as the heat from the sun which was no doubt blaring through the thin curtains, was the bodily heat of the boy lying next to him –or more like on him. An arm was splayed over Louis' chest (which normally would have been bare, but Louis wasn't going to push it too far; he was considerate underneath all his flamboyance) and a foot was tickling at his ankle. The pale skin most probably contrasted considerably with his tanned skin, and if he wasn't still in sleep-mode, Louis would have liked to let his eyes meander around it. The bicep muscle which wasn't all too defined was definitely lying heavily over his, and Louis could feel it more than anything. He was yet to open his eyes, let alone look, but every dot of skin which touched the cooler one of the other boy's felt like the flame of a match being held to the area. He was hyperconscious, and so he had right to be with the rarity of the occasion.

Because the body lying next to his was Harry. He and Harry were in bed together. In a hotel. In Italy. On holiday. Alone. By themselves. Just them. Together.

And that, that was a pretty monumental thing.

His eyes creaked open, his upper eyelashes separating from his lower with reluctance. The light blinded him as expected but the orange glow softened it to a mild stun. But what was more stunning than the contrasting difference of darkness and lightness, was the sight that he opened his eyes to. It was stunning in a different sense. Not shocking or surprising, no; stunning as in beautiful and angelic and strikingly _handsome._

Louis didn't think that he would ever get used to waking up to such loveliness, such splendour and such exquisiteness. And no, maybe he wouldn't see such prettiness as the first thing his eyes set down on for many days more, but he sure as hell appreciated it while he could.

Two mornings of waking up to emeralds and chocolate was more than Louis's bottle of 'Harry' could hold; the levels were teetering by the lip of the lid. And to think that he had two more days of such brilliance to go, the idea was astounding. He would have to invest in a bigger storage system, he thought, he couldn't waste any drop of grandeur for future use.

So there Harry was, all wide and bleary eyed, green swathed in glassy films of sparkling sleep. Strands of bed-hair were lying carefully over his forehead and tickling his eyelids with their fingers. His lips were pinked and looked utterly delicious, but what Louis focused on the most was the way that Harry's eyelashes fanned across his cheeks. The way that the strings of dark brown were delicately and carefully placed. They framed the green with pride. They looked like they were painted on with the finest of brushes, as if the most talented artist had taken Harry victim and taken its creative soul to flutter over Harry's eyes.

A flash appearance of Harry's tongue darting over his thickened lips drew Louis from his admiration. Harry was steadily staring at him, green eyes smoothing over Louis' browned skin. The sun was doing wonders to Louis' complexion, to Harry's not so much. He had stayed the, almost translucent, white even after being under the sun for hours. Maybe that was to do with the thick layer of sun cream he had caked onto his skin, but the idea of having red raw shoulders wasn't appealing for either of them. (But maybe the idea of massaging after-sun into Harry's shoulder was _very_ appealing, Louis could almost melt at the idea of moulding Harry's muscles with his hands, feeling it move under his skin and hearing the groans of appreciation tumble from Harry's lips as-).

So Harry was staring at Louis and Louis was staring at Harry and things seemed pretty perfect in that moment.

"Mornin'," Louis said with his obvious morning voice. He watched as Harry's eyes flickered shut for reasons that Louis didn't know, but it was soft and gentle and more meaningful than Louis _would_ know.

Louis spoke no more, his words dying on his lips as Harry breathed out a kind breath through parted lips and let his eyes flutter shut. The atmosphere was calm, but not too calm. It didn't seem like anything could or would break the serenity. Happiness: that made sure that nothing would affect the tranquil mood. Nothing else needed to be said for the time being; lying with a dozing Harry next to him was more than enough for Louis.

Louis rolled onto his back and shuffled up the bed a little, stretching out his limbs and pulling his bones to a relaxing tension. He pulled the white, crisp duvet up so it rested above his hips and pushed his bottom into the mattress to get more comfortable. Harry kept breathing gently next to him, his pink lips in an adorable pout that Louis wanted to kiss away with all his might. With Harry's peacefulness seeping into Louis' heart, Louis raised his hand limply and rested it on top of Harry's soft curls. Soothingly, he let his fingertips bury in the strands and let the palm of his hand be tickled by the tips. He softly carded his fingers through the curls and couldn't deny the smile which pulled at his lips when Harry purred in his doze.

Before Louis could allow his thoughts to trail into how Harry was actually quite like the most adorable kitten he had ever seen, Louis caught the view which was painted behind the window glass. The sky was a gorgeous, summery light blue with marshmallow clouds bobbing in the ripples of silk. The sun was casting almost bright white beams from above the window pane, and Louis could see where the sea and sky seemed to be stitched together at the seams. It was serene, beautiful, and somewhat surreal.

Surreal. Everything was surreal. The fact that he was there, in Italy, with Harry, that was totally surreal. Harry lying next to him, Harry being with him, even the mere factor of Harry even turning up at the airport, that was all a surreal, a dreamlike Neverland which Louis thought would be only a fantasy a few days prior.

But the two of them were on holiday and it was _real._

Louis glanced around the room, his fingers still slithering through the silky strands leisurely. He was pleasantly surprised by the interior design, the cleanliness and most importantly _the bed._ Not that the bed would be used in _that_ way, of course not. But Louis was very picky when it came to beds, after all, you do spend practically half the day in them. The sheets were plain white and had a dark brown throw, and most importantly, there wasn't a dodgy looking stain in sight. The room was bright, with a large window opposite the bed and a one on the right hand wall too. It was all that Louis had hoped for; he would have to thank Anne when he got back. Well, if she let him speak to her, that is.

Speaking of Anne, Harry had received a very stern text from her on the Monday night while they were settling into the room. It was full of _I'm highly disappointed in you_ and _I'm only looking out for you_ and _I know you want to be independent but.._ which had left Harry feeling somewhat despondent, but with a smooth of his curls and a nuzzle in the crease of his arm, Louis restored his mood relatively quickly. He had texted back with a full explanation and a request for her to _just speak to Gemma, please, she knows everything_ tacked on the end. They hadn't heard from her since but Louis had hope that she had come around to the idea.

The plane journey was actually enjoyable, surprisingly enough. Harry and Louis were squished together but Harry's fidgeting didn't annoy Louis in the slightest. He didn't exactly like the close confinements but Louis graciously offered him the seat by the window so he wasn't pressed against the, well, how should we put it, sour smelling man who was lodged next to Louis. Maybe Louis was using that as an excuse to snuggle up to Harry a _little_ closerthan usual, but hey, who could blame him. Harry was on the plane with him; he was going to snuggle up to him with all his might.

It was sweet and cosy as Louis rested his head on Harry's shoulder and linked their fingers together. The armrest had been pushed up so that their two seats could be shared and Harry could pull his long legs up to his chest easily. It was like there was a bubble of warmth pulled over them and their joined hands were used as a fastening device. Subconsciously, Harry's fingertips were smoothing over Louis' knuckles to every beat of the music they shared.

Because the journey was only around two and a half hours, they didn't bother watch the film provided, instead decided to share Harry's headphones and bop along to his varied selection of music. Louis couldn't really tell one song from the other, but Harry had a quaint smile on his lips and that was all that mattered. Not the bitter man beside him, not the peering air hostess, not the thought of Zayn, not the thought of Anne, no, just Harry, basking in _harry_ and only _harry._

One –of the many throughout their holiday– expression which Louis was sure to never forget was Harry's just as they stepped out onto the Italian ground, just outside of their hotel and by the beach. He looked in _awe,_ total and utter awed joy. He looked at Louis with wide, emerald eyes, sparkling jade reflecting Louis' shining smile. The smile which radiated so much _happiness_ and _disbelief on practically every level_ was indescribable in Louis' mind. He could see that his boyfriend was only just letting it sink in that they were there, together, alone, in Italy. Seeing his reaction to that, right in front of his eyes, brought an inexplicable amount of delight to Louis' eyes. Louis' fingers scrambled to find his and locked their hands together, fingers tightening to mirror the clenching of his heart.

Of course, once settled and able to reflect, Louis had had a time of wondering how the fuck he had gotten there. A prolonged moment of _why_ and _i don't deserve this_ was present and standing, but as he cast his glance over to a lazing Harry, he knew that he wasn't the only one struggling beneath his awed exterior. Regardless of whether he would even admit it to himself or not, there were moments when the clouds would pass over the ocean and Harry was doused in realisation of everything that had happened. Louis couldn't expect him to forget everything that had happened; in a sense, he didn't _want_ Harry to forget.

If Harry forgot then maybe he would forget how much they meant to each other; maybe he would forget that Louis made mistakes like everyone else and he wasn't as invincible as he made himself out to be. Louis wasn't perfect in the slightest.

But somehow, in spite of Harry's personality, Harry didn't stay downtrodden for long. The whole situation had not only secured his faith in Louis (somehow, despite the fact that Louis had lied despicably) but had let him grow a thicker skin, even if it was only the smallest amount. What mattered the most was the fact that they were together, after everything. As much as Harry's whole being contradicted it, this event didn't wreak havoc with his mind because he had Louis there at the end, had support and care standing at the finish like.

Harry couldn't explain it himself, but somehow, within hours, he was okay. Never would he ever think that he would be so lenient in such a situation, but Louis was Louis and when he was around, everything was okay.

Back to the present, though, there wasn't much time for moping because Louis' stomach was groaning almost as much as that weirdo he fucked when he was seventeen, –who, by the way, was probably the most drugged up boy he had ever fucked, that wouldn't stop grumbling even _after_ Louis had pulled out– and he was just craving some of that brioche that the hotel served yesterday morning.

Gently slipping his fingers from Harry's hair so he could brush back an errant curl from the boy's forehead, Louis leant down. He licked his lips subconsciously and pressed a kiss on the skin of Harry’s forehead. Louis was taking advantage of Harry's dozing state and general willingness that stemmed from gallons of glee, but the kiss was an automatic action and he couldn't help it when Harry looked so handsome. He slid out of bed and padded his way into the bathroom, deciding to let Harry laze around until his daily routine was over and done with. After all, Louis did take forever to get ready and Harry's morning piss (wow, that sounds odd, doesn't it? Louis knowing that Harry had to go to the toilet every morning...but hey, that's what you learn when you're on holiday with someone. We'll stop before Louis starts to get soppy over how he loves to know all the little things about Harry) wouldn't appreciate that at all.

After preening himself to perfection for a good half hour, Louis trundled out of the small bathroom and promptly fell over on a strewn shoe, stumbling forward and bashing into the wall with a knock of his head. With a flush of his cheeks, Louis straightened up and was all for pretending it didn't happen, all until he heard that familiar quiet chuckle. He glanced over at Harry to see him brimming with silent laughter as he sat with his legs hanging over the end of the bed. Louis couldn't help but let his laughter topple through his lips as he rubbed the sore spot on his head.

Harry looked adorable, sitting there all sleepy crusted. His curls were mussed up and wild, a jungle of threads. His eyes were bleary but beautifully clear at the same time, crinkles creasing the corner. His t-shirt was creased and wrinkled, and all that Louis wanted to do was bundle him up and smother him in kisses.

"You wanna go get some breakfast?" Louis asked, wandering over to the bed and plonking himself down with a creak of the mattress. Harry blinked heavily and nodded in Louis' direction. He stood up in all his length and stretched his arms above his head. Louis didn't dare glance at the strip of Harry's stomach which was bound to be exposed; his self-restrain was at its limits, what with the sun bringing out every sparkle in Harry's design.

After changing into some more appropriate clothing than scrappy pyjamas, Louis and Harry made their way down to the restaurant. The hotel provided a buffet of breakfast foods, nothing too extravagant for the boys' liking. The first morning they had been in the hotel was an experience for Harry from how the waiter was practically forcing him to drink some of the litres of coffee that they had set out for the guests. Louis drank his with a tight lipped smile and wished the drink's bitterness to disappear and be replaced with tea, but Harry on the other hand couldn't do such a thing. The face he made after he had taken the first sip had Louis in stitches. He wasn't best pleased by it, to put it lightly, and with the waiter hovering around to wait until his cup was drained so he could refill it, Louis took pity on his boyfriend and drank it for him. Louis did, however, demand a peck on the lips in return for the action. Harry couldn't find reason to deny him that.

During the breakfast of pastries, breads and fruits, the two boys planned out their day. Neither were up to doing much, especially not after their long day in Venice the day prior, so a lazy day on the beach and a peruse around the markets seemed the most fitting thing to do.

Louis had been slightly disappointed when they had first gone onto the beach and Harry hadn't stripped himself of his t-shirt. He couldn't not admit that, to anyone it was pretty obvious that that would have been the main highlight for him. He wanted to stare at the paleness of his skin, watch it shimmer in the sun. He wanted to be able to feel the softness with his eyes, the silky smooth expanse. He wanted to eye up his chest and imagine what it would taste like on his tongue as he-

But Louis got it; he understood. It wasn't like suddenly Harry would be confident and comfortable in his own body just because they were on holiday together, most likely the total opposite. Harry would be in an even more uncomfortable situation because he wouldn't have those home comforts. As much as Louis disapproved of said insecurities, he knew Harry and he knew that it wasn't as simple as flicking a switch to change everything. He would probably be hidden away for a good few months more and even though it pained Louis to not have _any_ of that, (and by _that_ I don't mean sexual tendencies) he definitely wasn't going to pressure Harry. He could last by feeding off scrunched t-shirts and flashes of pale.

But none of that prevented Louis from stripping off his shirt and bronzing himself to no ends. Louis wasn't going to lie or attempt to be bashful; he knew he had a relatively good body. The dancing had kept him slim, regardless of his shitty Uni diet in his first year, and even given him the slight of a six pack. It wasn't incredible, not chiselled like a carving in gold. And he did have this little band of chub which just _wouldn't_ budge, so that didn't count towards the perfect body. But he wasn't ashamed of it, though, in spite of his qualms. Not like Harry seemed to be ashamed of his own.

So once the two had gone back to the room, dressed in shorts and thin t-shirts and packed Harry's brown satchel full of the necessities, they meandered down to the beach. Louis' fingers fumbled their way into Harry's as they paid for two sun beds and found their chosen spot. Louis didn't even let them fall apart as they tried to conceal the plastic beds with their towels, for reasons unknown to Louis. It was most probable that Louis was just craving Harry's touch, everything about this holiday heightened the twitch in his fingers.

He only let Harry's long, thin fingers slide from his as he pulled off his t-shirt, and my, Louis definitely wasn't going to pretend that he missed Harry's wandering eyes. Louis spotted from the corner of his eye that Harry was most definitely staring as Louis pulled the t-shirt over his head. Being the way that Louis was, he could hardly not tease Harry a little, after all, Harry was his boyfriend and what harm could a little teasing do? He made sure to the make the muscles in his back flex and the sun shine on his bronzed skin.

Harry's eyes followed his movements, mind racing and thoughts flaring. The racecourse that his mind was on had been started with the shotgun of sun and skin. As the shirt material was lifted, the smooth tracks turned rippled with muscle and sandy ground. The road was thin and narrow, dainty and delicate. Somehow, the sun seemed to shine in all the right places, making Harry's veins tingle at the sight. The image made his heart balloon to a strain, a thin needle prick would burst it and he would no doubt be enthralled with ecstasy.

Louis threw his shirt on the sun bed, catching the way the black of Harry's eyes were suckered to the skin of his chest. He took a mental picture of the darkened, glassy orbs and filed it away at the back of his mind. He would use that later, most probably.

As Louis spoke, Harry seemed to break from his trance in shock, unsure of what had happened to him as he fell into the trap of smoky eyes. "You want to go down to the sea yet or d'you want to sunbathe for a bit?" his voice was so casual, so practiced and calm. It was as if Harry's mesmerisation (wow, Harry wasn't so sure calling it _that_ ) had just flown right over his head. It wasn't like that, of course, because inside Louis was freaking out immensely, but he wasn't going to show that, was he?

Harry nodded his head, his mind still trailing with a little of the daze from beforehand, and let Louis grab his hand and haul him up from the seat. Before he knew it, he was being dragged by a running Louis –a running, _half naked_ Louis– down to the sea. And on his lips was the most blissful smile in history.

 

After a frolic in the sea and a laze on the sand, Louis and Harry decided to take a break from the burning sun and take to the shadowed coolness of the ice cream shop not five minutes away. Louis was tempted to walk around without his clingy top on, but with how Harry kept getting distracted and dropping the thread of Louis' words, he thought it best to cope with the suffocating heat for Harry's sake.

As they walked through the small streets, ancient grey stone encompassing them, the two of them felt unusually safe. To be on holiday without a parent wasn't anything new to Louis; he had been on holidays with just his boyfriend from an age which was probably deemed too young. But he hadn't been on a holiday like this, a one which meant a lot and held more than just an excuse to get a good tan. It was their redemption. And to be in such a sensitive and rocky place in their relationship and feel so secure, it was a surprise– a welcomed surprise nonetheless.

Harry, on the other hand, felt a security which was more to do with the fact that his mother _wasn't_ there. He had been mollycoddled all his life, that was obvious and he had said it previously, by his mother and had hardly ever been out of her sight. So to be away from her in a different country, with the ability to be fully independent, he felt a lot more secure in himself. He was learning that he could do things by himself; he could be strong and decisive and he didn't need everything done for him. Plus, he felt safe because of Louis being there, but that was just a given, really.

Another bonus was the lack of judgement enforced on their clasped hands. Nobody stared at the peach and tan contrast with a disgusted look on their face. Nobody muttered a breathy insult as Louis pressed his lips on Harry's and got a pucker back, not one. To put it bluntly, nobody gave a shit and that was more than Louis and Harry could have ever asked for.

The couple ducked into the small ice cream parlour with a relieved sigh. The cool air conditioning whooshed at the back of their necks and tingled at their elbows. The counter storing the cooling treat hummed away in the background, a murmur behind the rolls of Italian being spoken between the workers and customers. The way that Louis and Harry could only understand the odd word of the language made them feel like they were in an even thicker bubble than they normally were. In England, they were in their bubble of _harryandlouis_ most of the time, but not being able to speak the native language separated them from everyone else in Italy and strengthened the wall around them.

"Right, you want Raspberry Ripple I presume, yeh?" Louis asked, scanning the teeth tingling treats through the pristine glass. His eyes flickered to the side and caught Harry's nod, spotting the faint smile on his lips. Louis didn't ask what it was for, no; he was too busy babbling about searching out the toffee ice cream which he was just craving _so_ bad. But Harry was smiling because Louis remembered that that was his favourite, after weeks and weeks he still remembered. Yes, he was his boyfriend and that type of relationship ensued knowledge on a different level, but small details like that were something which Harry presumed that Louis would forget on a whim. It made his insides bubble with love lava and his cheeks light with relaxed reds.

Harry settled himself on a cool mosaic chair near the back of the restaurant. Although it was one of the furthest seats away from the sun blaring window, the light still caught the seat opposite him where Louis would perch himself. His green eyes glanced over to see Louis trying to communicate with the Italian woman behind the counter, pointing and stressing the order with his hands more so than he ever had. You would have thought that they would have brought along a pocket handbook about the city, or even brushed up on their Italian skills (which equated to zilch) beforehand, but no, that wasn't exactly their main priority at the time. Plus, it was far more amusing to see Louis try and order foods which he had no understanding whatsoever about, let alone know the pronunciation.

Finally, Louis toddled over to Harry, two ice cream cones in hand. He handed Harry the neat white ice cream which had punctures of pink and valleys of red carved into it, before sitting down on the seat opposite him.

It was fascinating for Harry, indescribably captivating. The yellow light cast over the tan skin with a gentle touch. It was diffused around the edges, soft and subtle. It dug into the laughter lines and nestled in the left corner of Louis' lips. It sparked a pierce of white on the pink lower lip just after the cherry tongue darted out to wet it. It made his eyes glisten with sherbet sparkles. This warm glow pulled at the feathered strands, scooping underneath to cause a lighten to the colour – caramel to match his ice cream. It accentuated the twist of the cone and turn of the head as it gathered around the tongue which was taking a long lick of the cold cream.

Harry stared in awe as he saw the ice cream move. He saw the ripples forming and gathering like golden leaves being swept into a pile, the wind acting like the melting sweetness which disrupted such perfection. Once assembled, the mind-racing muscle licked up the creamy goodness in one swoop, the tip of the tongue pointing to take an extra trench out of the ice cream. He watched Louis swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing as the creamy substance trickled down his throat.

Yes, Harry was pretty mesmerised.

"That," Louis said as he finished off the ice cream , "was probably the best ice cream I have ever had. Well, it's competing with the ice cream that we got, like, months ago anyway."

Harry felt that bubble in his stomach and that flutter in his chest. His cheeks flushed more than expected and his eyes dropped to the table as he tried to hide his smile. He didn't know why he was so affected by it, but for some reason it pulled at his heart and lips dearly.

"Hey, what's that reaction for?" Louis asked, lifting Harry's face with his finger on his chin.

Harry's cheeks bunched up and a dimple prodded at his right cheek. He shrugged shyly, his shoulders rising up to his ears. Louis let his finger drop from Harry's chin and fumbled around in the brown satchel for the trusty writing materials. Harry rolled his eyes playfully as Louis pushed them towards him with his eyebrows raised, speaking through his expression.

_I just...didn't expect you to remember, that's all..._

Louis looked surprised, surprisingly enough for Harry. His blue eyes widened and a ponderous expression lay across his face. A splash of sadness pulled at his lips in a downturn, but it was soon covered up by the blankness which Harry would usually portray. Harry watched as Louis ran through thoughts in his mind, expression taut and unsure. His fidgeting fingers burst into life all of a sudden and grabbed onto Harry's hand. With sticky fingers, he gripped onto Harry's clean skin with a tight hold. His blue eyes turned blaringly serious and were doused in incentive.

"I- I remember a lot, okay Haz? I remember more than you probably realise, more than you will ever believe because you're just that type of person. Always thinking lowly of yourself, always believing that nobody could actually care _that_ much. But I _do_ care that much and I _do_ remember all of those little things. Because I want to, I want to remember them more than anything else. The little things are what mean the most to me and I will always hold onto those. I know it's kinda hypocritical of me to say that I remember the small things when I forgot our one month...but still, don't be surprised when I remember the little things, okay?"

Harry's expression was a notch over blank. It had that unresponsive backing tone, but the main melody was starting to play in through a verse of contemplation. He was gripping Louis' fingers back just as tightly, supporting himself while he found his reply. He was mainly overwhelmed by the sincerity and truth behind Louis' words. Harry still could not believe that someone would feel that way about him, so to hear it out loud was quite an experience for his heart and mind and every single cell in his body.

 

_I don't really know what to say..._

 

Louis squeezed Harry's hand in encouragement, smiling softly at him. He wasn't being patronising, no; he was being supportive and caring. And maybe his next words had a double meaning; maybe they were deeper than what was on the surface, more than just black on white, maybe they were the ink streaming through the trenches in the paper and trickling with hidden force. But whatever they were, they were from the heart; that was for sure.

"You don't have to say anything, Harry. You don't ever have to say anything."

Harry looked up from staring down at their locked fingers, their locked minds. The green orbs flashed through the dark eyelashes, concealing the glitter that had formed. Harry knew the meaning of Louis words; he knew the depth in which they lay. The sentence circulated his mind fluidly, like a kite in a steady stream of wind. It fluttered and tumbled but stayed pieced together. It was always legible, strong letters written in a fluent font standing strong in the colour black, contrasting with the light blue of his mind. Sometimes it dipped into his ears to replay the words being spoken so delicately, the soft, high voice replaying in his mind.

He wanted to touch his fingers to the piano keys and play out how the words made him feel, how they sounded in his head. They wouldn't dip into the lower notes, the heavy and sturdy ones. No, they would stay with the higher pitched keys instead, mimicking the gentleness and the grace of the words. His fingers would probably scale over the highest note, just to let the feeling that he was floating on air drift in. It would not be a fast, staccato piece. His fingers would never let him ruin such serenity. It would be slow and soft, only light fingertips on ebony and ivory keys allowed.

It made him feel infinite.

 

_I just...never expected that, y'know?_

He pulled his fingers from Harry's smoothly and let his hand cup Harry's cheek. With his thumb scanning over the soft skin, Louis smiled sadly.

"I know, Haz, I know. I know that you don't expect any of this, at all. I know that you probably won't believe any of this either, but that doesn't mean that I don't know _you_."

Harry looked down at the table, his curls cascading over his face and hiding his expression. Louis let his hand fall back onto Harry's and noticed the way that his fingers seemed to slot into the spaces between Harry's naturally.

 

_It's just a lot to get my head around, like, after everything in my life and after everything that happened last week, I never thought I would be here, let alone have you remembering the things which I remember._

Louis' eyebrows furrowed as he read the neat scrawl. He looked up at Harry, head tilted and lips pouting in confusion.

"Why wouldn't I remember what you remember, though?"

Harry sighed. He looked down at the paper once he had swivelled it around to face him, staring down the blankness his eyes had focused on. He wrote a few words but scribbled them out promptly. He found it hard to search out the start of the sentence, to make sense of his mind.

 

_Well I'm just one of those people who take the small things to heart, y'know, like the first kiss stuff. Whereas you have bigger fish to fry, bigger things to remember than what ice cream I like the best.._

Louis used his sticky fingers to raise Harry's head once he had read the words. His eyes locked with Harry's for a second or so to portray his seriousness. Of course the gaze was dropped soon after, but he knew that Harry had seen at least a smidgen of his truth in his blue eyes.

"That's bullshit, to be honest…plain bullshit. I might come across quite flippant and stuff, but the little things mean more to me than anything. I would trade in something massive for lots of little things any day. Like, I don't know- wait, yeh, here's one: I traded in sex for all your little kisses. I did that because they mean more to me than a bit of fucking. Every little kiss gives me this feeling which I just can't describe, something which sex doesn't give me. I'm not saying that I won't feel that if _we_ have sex, but that's not really the point anyway. The kisses, they made you happy, so they made me happy. Yes, I might have taken some of the appreciation for small things from you, but that doesn't make it any less real. It just shows how much I have learnt from you and about you, that's all. The little things mean the most, right?"

Harry took a while to reply after Louis' speech, of sorts. His fingers were poised around the pen in one hand, while his other was still holding onto Louis' with all his might. He dare not let it go, he thought, or else all of the words may slip away in front of his eyes and he would trickle into a trance of disbelief. He was not so sure what to do with the information that Louis had lain out in front of him. It had all been scripted in his mind, saved and buried to protect it, but he still could not believe it. Everything was told in such an honest and true way that Harry knew no lies were hidden in there, but it was still a task to swallow such sincerity when it concerned his own wellbeing.

He looked up at Louis with his bottom lip between his teeth, smiling with a burn to his cheeks.

 

_I love this side of you, it's so...I don't even know how to explain it, it's just amazing..._

"No, Haz, _you're_ amazing, okay? The little things which I remember are what make you so amazing- wow, I sound like such a sap."

Harry chuckled gravelly, the blush on his cheeks still flaring red. He fiddled with the pen between his fingertips for a while, indecisive on his answer. It wasn't that he didn't know what to say; it was just how to say it and whether it was the correct thing to say. (Although that makes it sound that Harry was scared to say the wrong thing around Louis, that wasn't the case. All he wanted was to say it so that his point was made without him sounding silly. He didn't mind embarrassing himself in front of Louis as much anymore, what with Louis being a blundering mess most of the time anyway, but important things weren't something he wanted to mess up on.)

_I like you being a sap, sap-you is cute and makes me feel all warm inside..._

 

"He does? Well, then, maybe sap-me could tell you some of the little things that I remember about you? I like you feeling like that."

 

_Only if you want..._

Louis looked at Harry with _those_ eyes. The ones which were not condescending, but were saying 'are you _actually_ kidding me?'. He pulled their twined hands up from the table and let their elbows support them. The table was cold on the newly supportive skin, but the heat of their hands being joined blanketed that chill. Louis' hand –and arm– was basically wrapped around Harry's. Harry's pale hand was facing Louis, blue veins and thin bones galore. Before speaking, Louis looked down at their hands –for the billionth time that day– conjoined and smiled blissfully. The contrast of their skin and the difference in size made his heart race for reasons unknown. He leant down and pressed his lips on one of Harry's knuckles, letting them rest there as he shut his eyes and soaked in _harry._ Finally, he pulled away and smiled up at his boyfriend. He let his chin rest on the mess of their fingers and spoke quietly.

 

"I remember how you love to cut mushrooms even though you hate eating them. And how you love cooking with potatoes because you think they're the best ingredient ever because of their versatility. I remember that your nose runs really easily, even at the slightest bit of cold. It goes all rosy to match your cheeks. I remember that you think horror movies are pointless because the adrenaline turns into second-hand fear afterwards. And that rom-coms are the best because they provide you with rose-tinted glasses. I'm sure that you said you think wicker baskets look tacky, but I can't remember why...oh, and you think that white cars look the tackiest which I totally agree on. I remember that you love wearing maroon because it makes you feel warm and cosy. And that Christmas is your favourite holiday because everyone is so happy around you and you love seeing your Mum smile. I remember that you and Gemma used to dance to the Christmas CD every year and you would always have to wear that flat cap to look like you were in the 1800's. I remember that you used to hate mince pies but then you suddenly liked them one day and you can't get enough of them. I remember that you hate getting gravy on your courgettes and cream when you have Christmas dinner. And that you love rosemary on your potatoes. Wait- why does this all have to do with food? Anyway, hmm, what else... oh, the fact that you hate sleeping with socks on, that, too, is just adorable. And you really want a dog but you would never walk it because you're so lazy. I remember that you like having baths more than showers, especially bubble baths. You like coconut shampoo the best but vanilla bubble bath. And really, all of that –and the loads of other stuff I remember– is just superficial stuff.

I remember the important stuff too, the stuff which means even more than all that. I remember that you like me stroking your hair because it makes you feel safe. I remember that you just want to see your Mum smile, more than anything. And that when she's happy, you're happy. I remember that you find it hard to open up about the smallest of things because you think they're petty, when to me they really aren't. I remember that you blush every time I compliment you because you don't believe me. That you're insecure about how you look; the time you denied me complimenting how you looked with that one stare which I will always remember. I remember you still find this whole thing crazy. I remember that you need time to adjust every time we see each other, but that's okay because you get there in the end and that's all that matters. And I remember, most of all, that you just want to be cared for. And that's what I aim to do every day."

Harry was breathing heavily, his breaths looking deep and shaky. His chest expanded in a laboured and slow movement, but then contracted much quicker. For the majority of Louis' babble, Harry hadn't looked down much at all while he blushed away to no ends. It was a surprise, although Louis didn't let himself contemplate it much as he was listing all the things which made his jaw tingle and eyes twitch. He had, instead, been staring at Louis in awe and delight. His green eyes were widened more than Louis had ever seen. They looked beautiful. His jaw was a little slack as Louis reeled off a fraction of the things he had remembered, disbelieving. He had only looked down and let his curls cover his eyes as Louis spoke a little more seriously, speaking a little dearer to the heart.

Once Louis had finished (even though it all seemed unfinished), they sat in quiet. A nice quiet, Louis thought. It was calm, open, and made his skin feel light on his bones. Harry was hunched over, his shoulders rising and falling. Each rise came with a gush of serenity; each fall came with a blow of tranquillity. It was quite blissful.

It was when Harry looked up, minutes later, that Louis felt his heart almost burst out of his chest. A fire trundled its way up from his stomach, dipping into the side of his ribcage and floundering in his throat. A shocked gasp was caught in his throat and would not escape, but it was still there, breathy and cool. The corners of his eyes tickled with bittersweet juice, unable to place itself on one of the two extremes. His teeth gravitated over his bottom lip without thought, biting down to stop a whimper tumbling out improperly. All reactions to a simple expression. It showed how much power a little thing by Harry had over Louis, that was for sure.

Harry's eyes had a sheen, a sparkling lining. The gloss was painted over the emerald of his eyes, a trickle dabbed around the crease of his eyelid. His cheeks were pinked with something other than a blush for once. They were flushed with heaven. His bottom lip was a shade of ruby as it stretched into a smile just as Harry let out a breath full of depth. His white teeth peeked through his lips to show themselves, to show the Harry that was _now_. The Harry who was giggling in disbelief as he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. The Harry who was staring at Louis with his emotions in his eyes, on his lips, in his skin. The Harry who could be so free with his emotions. The Harry who didn't need to hide behind a blank sheet anymore. The Harry who was with Louis.

_This_ Harry.

"Stop it, Haz, you'll set me off!" Louis said, letting out a watery giggle. He brushed the falling curls from Harry's forehead, staring softly at his languidly blinking eyes. Although the sun wasn't tanning Harry all too much (and by that I mean not at all), it was doing a fine job of clearing up Harry's blemishes on his forehead - not that Louis cared of course, but for Harry's confidence it was a bonus. But that was totally off topic.

Muttering a quiet, "C'mere" to Harry, Louis leant over the table and pressed his lips on Harry's. They still were yet to adventure into the land of _tongue,_ but Harry's technique was figuring itself out quite quickly. Louis tilted his head to the side to let their lips slot together more fluidly. Using his spare hand, Harry gently cupped the back of Louis' head so that even the corners of their mouths could touch. The way that Harry's lips were thicker than his made them sponge against Louis' in a way which, if tongue was involved, would most probably leave Louis in an awkward situation. This kiss was one of the most raw they had had. It was full of _thankyou_ and _yourwelcome_ and _imeanit_ and _it'strue._

Louis pulled back reluctantly once his neck was starting to ache, breathing heavily. He let his eyes flutter open and land on Harry's rosy lips, kissed lips. Breathlessly, he murmured, "We should probably go to the market now, but I kinda just want to do that all day..."

He saw Harry's lips curl into a smile as he stared intently at them. He counted the creases which lined his bottom lip, so slight and thin that they were almost unseen. He spotted the indentation that marks above his top lip which was even paler than the rest of his skin. He stared down the skin just before his lips, the shinier and softer part which was easing away from his top lip like it had been glued there. He measured the scale of red they were from the force of the kiss; they seemed pretty red to him. They were fascinating.

Louis was pulled from his staring competition with the plush lips as Harry shook his head, his smile turning into a slight smirk. He got up from the table and pulled Louis off the seat and out of the shop. He turned in the direction of the market, causing Louis to whine childishly and pout. He slowed down in resistance, trying to stop Harry taking them anywhere. Harry turned around to look at him with raised eyebrows, staring him down, and then sighed dramatically. He trundled a few steps so that he was closer to Louis and dipped his head down. Harry brushed his lips against Louis' lightly, the feeling tingling on Louis' lips as he waited for Harry to press down. That, however, never happened as Harry did a quick turn and dragged a dazed Louis down the street.

"Wh-what?" Louis said confusedly, completely baffled by the quick happenings. Harry looked behind and smirked at him, letting a bubble of laughter float through his lips.

"That's totally not fair!" Louis exclaimed, trailing behind Harry like a wounded puppy. Harry just cackled out a laugh and smiled brightly at Louis. It was as if Louis' speech had fed him with a new found confidence. It wouldn't last more than a few hours, Louis knew that, but it was certainly intriguing and quite amazing for Louis to witness. Louis stopped short, keeping his fingers locked with Harry's firmly so that the taller boy stumbled to a stop.

"Come here," he pouted, staring at Harry and pointing down to the space just in front of him. Harry contemplated it for a moment before obeying the order and standing just in front of Louis. Louis raised up on his tip toes so his lips were level with Harry's. He didn't press them together, no; he just looked at Harry with a serious expression. The curly haired boy furrowed his eyebrows in confusion as Louis stood there, staring at him. He wasn't too sure what Louis was inferring, what he was even doing, but then again, sometimes Harry had no clue what Louis was going on about so he was used to the confusion.

He realised, however, as Louis tapped his lips with his fingertip and dropped his eyelids closed, what he was being asked to do.

Harry took his time, firstly smiling in admiration at how _louis_ Louis was being, if that made sense. He was being his cheeky self, straight after saying something so heartwarming and sincere. That's what Harry adored about Louis: how he could change the situation from serious to jokey in less than a second. It was a trait that Harry would love to have, but then he also wouldn't because the pair of them would wreak havoc. So finally, Harry pressed a simple kiss on Louis' lips. There wasn't any movement, no twisting or tilting. No, it was just a kiss on his lips. And that was what made it so much more perfect.

"Thanks, baby," Louis said as he settled back down on his feet again, smiling brightly. With that, he skipped off down the street, pulling a blushing Harry behind him.

 

After an afternoon strolling around the quaint, authentic markets, Louis and Harry made their way back to the hotel. The market was more than they could have imagined, so quintessentially Italian. There were carts and carts full of food which were incredible on the eye, and nose too. The colours all blended into one, browns and reds and oranges blurring like autumn leaves. The smells of spices and garlic all merged into glass walls around them, suffocatingly gorgeous.

Louis spent half of the time popping different samples of food in Harry's mouth and gauging his reaction as to whether he should try it himself, earning a few slaps along the way when he gave Harry the odd spicy food.

Harry, being the growing boy he was, took a particular fancy to a certain bread and insisted that they buy it. Louis presumed that he would take it back to the hotel, maybe make some sandwiches with it later when he got peckish. But no, the curly haired boy pulled it out of its white paper bag and started munching on it straight away. Louis shot him an astounded look, but it went ignored as Harry chewed obscenely on a large bite of dough. Startlingly enough, it was rather unattractively attractive for Louis. The way that the bread was practically gluing Harry's mouth together and splurging out from behind his teeth should have been revolting, not _adorable._ Sometimes, Louis wondered how Harry could do that, how it was even possible to make something so disgusting incredibly cute, but then he realised that he would never understand and it was just _harry._ So Louis just laughed, pulling Harry's head down to his level with his arm wrapped around his neck, and kissed Harry's temple affectionately.

So after picking up small souvenirs to add to the few they had picked up in Venice the day previous (in the end, Harry just _had_ to buy Louis both of the masquerade masks because his ' _eyes, lou, your eyes'_ ), the two bundled themselves into different clothing for their meal, not wanting to look scrappy when they were bound to add to their photo collection. Louis had thrown Harry the yellow polo which he had been dying to see that long torso in, and Harry threw a simple stripy t-shirt to Louis to shut Louis' incessant whining up when he had noticed a massive slop on one of his shirts. The both looked pretty dapper; it had to be said, even though they weren't wearing the most formal of clothing. They both had their aviator glasses on as they strolled through the streets, both secretly looking at the other through the blacked out lenses. They had chosen a quiet seafood restaurant which was on the coast, looking out to the sea and sand. As they sat opposite each other on the balcony of the restaurant, a warm breeze encompassed them. Passion fruit skies surrounded them, banana sun and apple-blossom clouds sinking into the sea.

It all felt so very intimate. The restaurant wasn't busy, the odd family and couple spattered around the place, but it wasn't that awkward sense of quiet either. It was very relaxed, no pressure. Harry was sat opposite Louis; Louis was sat opposite Harry. Just after ordering drinks, Louis forbade Harry to take off his glasses, pulling him in to take a snap of their grinning faces. He had taken too many photos already but he could not really care less. He wanted all the reminders he could get, and he was sure that Anne would want to see them too (if she wasn't mad at Louis, that was). Once Harry had settled back in his seat, sunglasses hooked onto the collar of his shirt and chin resting on his hand, Louis had decided that _'yep, this one's a keeper',_ and pocketed his camera.

The candle in the middle of the table flickered with the wind, orange and white and yellow blowing from side to side. Harry almost wanted to grab it, let pain be the decider of whether everything was actually real. He did not need to do that, though, because he could feel Louis' hand in his, all heavy and warm. It grounded him with reality. Although they had only a few days left, he couldn't find it in himself to be sad. It was physically impossible to be doubtful or miserable anymore– or at least for the rest of the holiday. Maybe he had used up all of his misery the weekend prior, but Harry was close to being sure that it was just what being cared for felt like. He liked that feeling; he really did.

The food was delicious, scrumptious in fact. Harry gobbled it down like there was no tomorrow, moaning as he took certain bites of his meal because _my god, this is the best thing i have ever tasted, lou, i swear i've got to learn how to make this for you._ Louis just smiled through a mouthful of his pasta and tried to cover up his urge to just _weep_ by taking a swig of his red wine, a large one at that.

Louis would have been concerned by the amount of sweet treats he had been eating if they weren't so delectable, especially the one that he and Harry shared. It was so cliché of them to share dessert, but if they were being such romantics the whole holiday then why stop there? And, okay, maybe it was a little too much to let Harry spoon feed him but really, if he was going to combust because of the amount of sugary foods he had eaten, he may as well combust from how sweet _they_ were being first.

They meandered back to the hotel, taking a detour by the beach to let the sand sink around their feet and the cold seawater bite at their toes. Both were fairly reminiscent of the beach trip they took with Anne and Gemma quite soon after the start of their relationship, both contemplating how much things had changed. It was a different type of change to just growing up, it was more than that and very hard to explain to anyone not involved. The two boys could feel the difference as they strolled by the water's edge, could taste it on their tongues and feel it nipping at their ears.

Louis stopped them at one point. He stood still and kept Harry close to him, not out rightly touching each other but being _there._ It was awfully cheesy as they stood looking out at the sea, that classic time of contemplation and letting everything sink in looking terribly corny. Louis swivelled around so that his smaller frame was stood in front of Harry's. He looked up at Harry, the dusty light dimming their eyes a little but keeping that warm, buzzing gleam.

As much as they had touched throughout the holiday, Louis was still cautious when it came to cuddles. In bed, asleep, Harry was unaware of what he was doing and waking up cuddling wasn't as big a deal as Louis thought it would be. But when Harry was fully conscious, Louis was wary that he would push Harry that little bit too far. That would probably never change.

Tentatively, Louis slid his arms around Harry's waist. Although Harry was pretty loose and relaxed, his stomach tensed along with his shoulders. Louis noticed the way his face dropped a smidgen, and he immediately wanted to iron out the blankness with a steam of happiness. He waited it out for a few seconds, keeping his arms still and staring up at Harry in anticipation. The tension on Harry's face was softening by the second, slowly but surely. Finally, Louis muttered a quiet, "You okay?" to Harry and earned a gentle nod from the curly haired boy. Sighing lightly, Louis tucked himself into Harry's chest. Long arms pulled him in closer, wrapping around him like the string on a yoyo. His face was encased in a bubble of warmth from the softness of Harry's chest cushioning his cheeks. He could smell that _harry_ smell, the one particular to him and only him. The one which made Louis' head turn light and cottony. The one which Louis would breathe in forever if he could. His _boyfriend's_ smell.

They stood like that for a while, a long while in fact. Louis could not bring himself to enter the air of not-harry, and Harry could not bring himself to lose the little ball of _louis_ in his arms which made his heart pound ten to the dozen. It was such a simple action, such a simple thing to do, cuddling that is. But it felt so perfect and it felt so right. Harry could have squeezed tighter, could have squeezed all the _louis_ out of his boyfriend so that he could bottle it up and keep it close to him all the time. He could have run his hands up and down Louis' back, nuzzled his nose in the soft feathers of his hair. But he didn't because a simple hug seemed to fill his heart with more joy than anything else could. The multicoloured joy was teetering on the edge of spilling over the lid of his heart; who knew where it would end up if it did dribble over, most probably out of his eyes as trickling tears.

After a while, they entered into a lovely bubble of _them._ It seemed like there was a wall around them, protecting them from the outside world. It was keeping all the bad things out. All the Zayn's out. All the Niall's and the Liam's. All the Anne's who weren't best pleased. All the Gemma's who thought they had to be cautious. All the students who ignored the mute boy. All the homophobes who spat at the gay dancer. All the people who thought that their relationship was wrong. All the ones who didn't understand.

Because together, they were invincible. They were indestructible.

Life was a tricky task for everyone, an advanced sheet of notes with complex varieties of pitches and paces. Life was like a mash up of different piano pieces: happy ones, sad ones, loud and quiet. You could never be sure as to which piece you would be handed, which stave of notes that would float from your fingertips that day. The piano keys of ebony and ivory were the contrasts of life. The ebony keys were representatives of the darkened days of life, the ivory being the happy days. The black keys were supposed to be used in the minority, but for some composers of life, they weren't. For Harry, they weren't.

But somehow, Louis found him. Louis found him with his blue eyes and ivory fingertips. He was there to ease Harry's fingers from the darkness and let them lie with his in the light. They balanced each other out, just right. They understood that life was more than just black and white, ebony and ivory. Life was more than the thousands of notes to be heard.

Playing a perfect piece wasn't necessary for Louis and Harry. 

They didn't need perfection; no, they only needed each other.


End file.
